Tears of Blood
by 24tributes24authors
Summary: 24 tributes, 24 authors, the 24th Hunger Games. 24 writers come together to write a Hunger Games of epic proportions. Only 1 will survive while 23 other authors' dreams get crushed as they watch their characters die. May the odds be ever in your favor.
1. District One Reapings

**A/N:** Hello everyone. This is the 24 tributes, 24 authors and the 24th hunger games fic. The basics of it is that 24 authors each take on one of the 24 tributes to write about in the 24th hunger games. Exciting, huh? So don't forget to look up your favorite authors on their profiles to read more of their writing, this should open a world of hunger games reading to you that you never knew existed until now! Some of these names you might have heard of, others you probably haven't. You might find a new favorite author while reading this, you never know! So, without further ado, the authors are as following (in no particular order):

Booksandmusic97, Jojob19, Lexi Blaze, Isabugg, zxskunkmuffinxz, LegendOfZeldaFreak, SneverusSnapers, nightfuries, PenMySword, Cottoncandychoctop, Packman23, Sallen, Magentapen, live. love. laugh. write, PhoenixRefrain, Yelof530, FritzasPritz, PumpkinGrin, Mrslukecastellean, Jayfish, PearyPants44, Life is but a Daydream, Cloud-Lover26 and Falconflight.

This was all put together by the fantabulous mikki105 and her jaw dropping second-in-command who's going to take the place of Claudius Templesmith in commentating over this fic, SneverusSnapers (that's me!). For more information feel free to drop either mikki105 or myself a PM. We'd be happy to help!

Disclaimer: Suzanne Collins owns the hunger games, not any of us 24 measly authors. If I did I wouldn't be sticking around this rabble! Honestly!

Now, without dilly-dallying any more we're going to get straight on into the writing. So I present you with district one by… the fabulous live. love. laugh. write. (D1 female) and the energetic isabugg (D1 male)!

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><p><strong>Live. Laugh. Love. Write.'s AN: **Hey everyone! I just wanted to let you know how excited I am to start this, and that I get to open. I haven't posted anything on yet, but hopefully I'll start posting some more soon. I just want to ask you all to review, and let you know all criticism is much appriciated! One last thing- I'd like to thank Isabugg for being such an amazing partner. And now... I present to you: the District One reapings!

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><p><strong>Isabugg's AN:** WOAH, I'M IN ANOTHER STORY? Well, how 'bout that. It's so exciting to be a part of this collaboration, especially because of the ridiculous amount of talent all the other authors have. I go onto the forums and I practically explode with jealousy because of it. Hahah! I also couldn't ask for a better partner than Live. Laugh. Love. Write. She's always open to suggestions and puts up with all my annoying edits and PM's, which I couldn't thank her enough for. ANYWAY, I've grown quite fond of the character I've created for this, and hopefully all of you will too. He's a pyro with a terrible attitude, and you can look at his photo reference here: i39-tinypic-.-com-/-29ooiyq-.-png (remove '-'s) NOW I'LL STOP BABBLING AND LET YOU READ.

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><p><strong>Skye Azurite's Point of View (by Live. Laugh. Love. Write.)<strong>

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><p><em>"The best road to progress is freedom's road."<em>

—John F. Kennedy

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><p>I awaken to the bright, electric blue light of the illuminated clock on the ornately carved side table. It alerts me to the fact that it is early morning and the inhabitants of District One are still asleep. It is the day of the reaping. It is no wonder that I couldn't sleep.<p>

I silently slide out of bed, treading gracefully on the balls of my feet to the training area. I flip on the light switch and listen intently to the silence above. My parents are still asleep. I walk over to the gleaming rack of weapons that seems to be beckoning to me. Cautiously, but with much finesse, I pick up my best weapon- grip blades. Grip blades are a unique weapon, with a handle embedded with different shades of blue gemstones and a wickedly sharp blade that seems to fold back unto the handle.

As soon as I pick up the weapon, the pretense of somebody else seems to come over me. Instead of being lithe, delicate fifteen-year-old Skye I usually am, my ice blue eyes harden. My stature becomes balanced and protective. I am no longer a petty teenage girl, but a dangerous adversary. I am a young woman with the capability to end somebody's life within a second. I am limitless.

With a grip blade in each hand, I saunter over to one of the life-sized targets. Each target is red underneath a black coating the exact thickness of human skin. I gracefully slide the knife multiple times across the target's chest in a matter of seconds, leaving behind trails of blazing scarlet. I smile, and satisfaction fills my eyes.

A few hours of intense practicing, I hear the first signals of my parents be aroused by the help. I quickly put the training area back into order, then slip into my comfortable bed under my down comforter. I close my eyes just in time as I hear my mother's footfalls on the stairs. "Skye, you must get up now. It's the day of the reapings." At this I open my eyes. I see the smile hardened into my mother's face, and the anxiety reflected in her eyes.

"Yes mother." I stretch my muscles, as if I was slightly sore after a night of worrisome sleep which is to only be expected on the day of the Reapings. My mother slowly strode up the stairs, leaving me alone in my large room. I hear the click as she inserts and turns the key in the lock, trapping me inside.

After looking through my large assortment of lavish dresses, I decide on a pastel pink and blue one made of silk. It reminds me of the delicacy cotton candy, which is saved for special occasions in the District, such as a Victor in the Hunger Games. The tight, luminous pink bodice and the cascading sapphire blue skirt form an elegant cohesiveness of colors. A pure white velvet ribbon separates the two colors, creating a tension between the top and the bottom sections of the dress. I carefully zip up the back, adding support to the strapless top and hoisting the dress up a little past my knees.

I then focus my attention on the rest of me. I cautiously apply a dazzling streak of glowing white eyeliner to attract wondering gazes to my icy blue eyes. I pull my light golden blonde ringlets out of the casual ponytail I sleep in, and pin the strand dyed cobalt blue out of my eyes with a diamond barrette in the shape of a poised butterfly. I apply some red lipstick to give myself a dash of color to my pallid complexion.

I walk over to the kitchen portion of the downstairs. After eating a very nutritious meal of oatmeal completed with an array of different types of berries, I take one last look around the downstairs. The downstairs was divided into five sections- the kitchen, the training area, the bathroom, the bedroom, and the study. In the bedroom there was a gleaming silver spiral staircase that leads aboveground, with an ornate gold door and a matching intricate lock. Right next to the bed, there is a schedule that tells me what I am supposed to do for the day. I am given an allotted amount of time to each individual activity and expected to just perform the activity within that specific amount of time. This insures that my parents know exactly what I'm doing and when. It also is the reason why I have to practice silently in the early hours of the morning.

Exactly one hour before the reapings, my parents walk down the elegant stairs, an identical stern look on each of their faces. They then lead me up the stairs like a young child, watching my every move intently. My mother is in front and my father is in back. When we reach the top of the stairs, my mother takes my left arm and my father grips the right. We then exit the house, and I look behind at the place that has imprisoned me for so long.

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><p>I wait in the fifteen-year-old section, watching the roughly set up stage with intensity. It is easily inferred that the Capitol attendants frantically set it up overnight with little time due to the fact that the stage looks unstable and is covered with an assortment of metallic colored pieces of cloth. There are folding chairs that were made to look like replicas of a luxurious throne.<p>

Our mayor approaches the microphone with anxiety reflected in his topaz eyes. His paled skin stands out with his dark curls which are graying, and you can see the hesitation in his posture. He clears his throat gruffly, as if trying to get the attention of the myriad inhabitants of my district.

The escort walks onto the white stage, determination set in his eyes, and a sudden still comes over the crowd. He is a new escort, unknown to the citizens of District One and especially unknown to myself. He is older, but has been enhanced to look younger due to popular surgeries in the Capitol. The escort is also a physical representation of District One. He has grown out and unkempt gold hair that sweeps into his cloudy metallic silver eyes which are framed by diamonds embedded in his copper skin.

"Well! I guess now is a good time to introduce our new escort. Everyone, give a warm welcome to Creon Argent!" announces the mayor, a strained smile on his skittish face. The escort sweeps his cold, unforgiving eyes on the crowd, who are rushing to supply applause as intimidated as our escort. He supplies a mock smile, and raises his hand to wave impassively.

After the applause quickly dies down, a precise line of the five past victors walk onto the stage, pride emitting from every aspect of them. I watch the older victors, as old as forty, and the younger victors, as old as last year's male victor at 16, walk onto the white stage.

As soon as I see last year's victor, I cannot take my eyes off of him. Even from this distance, I can tell he is taller than me. However, that's not saying very much because I am only a few inches past five feet. His chocolate brown locks fall into his electric blue eyes, which contrast immensely with his bronze skin. He is muscular, but not in a way that would scare you away. Instead, it looks quite comforting, almost like a protective older brother. He meets my gaze, and I feel an awakening in my chest and my face flush with color. He smiles slightly at me, still maintaining my gaze.

Then I see a female victor from a couple years past. She is a stunningly perfect platinum blonde, and looks about sixteen also. Her eyes, an attractive mint green in color, follow his eyes to scrutinize me, studying me. I shiver slightly at her unreasonable hostility. This surprises me because I don't know this girl, just like the vast majority of my district.

The mayor quickly plunges into his annual speech. He begins with the history of Panem. First, he explains all the catastrophic disasters leading up to the Dark Days; then he goes into painstaking detail about how the Capitol annihilated District Thirteen and left the other districts enslaved. He seems almost as distracted and restless as the rest of the citizens of District One.

"Lastly, I will name our past Victors," says the mayor, his skittish eyes scanning each individual child. "Ava Hobbs." Ava, a woman looking like she's in her forties, stands up with her greying hair and narrows her eyes at the crowd. "Summer Diamond." A woman in her thirties with silky auburn hair and piercing green eyes sends a dazzling smile at the camera. "Robert McLean." He grins lopsidedly, flipping his black hair out of his green eyes. He's quite young, somewhere in his twenties. "Samuel Hanson." Samuel, a man in his early twenties with closely cut blonde hair in a military buzz and gray eyes, nods curtly at the camera. "Jaloux Estlaid." Jaloux, the surly beauty who took a sudden dislike to me, sends a genuinely sweet smile to the camera which curdles my stomach. "Matt Kyanite." Matt, the young guy with chocolate brown locks and electrifying blue eyes, glances over me and focuses on Jaloux. I feel a hot feeling rise to my head, flushing my face with a rosy pink color. My eyes narrowed, seething in silent anger.

"First, we shall announce the female tribute," announces Creon, a sense of authority embedded in his voice as he swiftly takes the microphone from our anxious mayor. He promptly delves his hand into the glass orb holding the name of every child in my district at least once. He unfolds the crisp parchment, and reads the name.

"Skye Azurite."

The whispers ripple through the crowd, like a smooth stone thrown into the polished surface of a crystal clear like.

"Who is that?"

"Does she live in this District?"

"I've never heard of her."

As everybody is frantically looking around for the new tribute, I begin to function once again and regain my composure as the realization that the tribute is me. I don't cry out. I don't look intimidated. As I watch myself glide unto the stage, I glimpse myself in the screens that ordain the buildings next to the stage that allow all the inhabitants to see what is going on. I look confident. I look beautiful. And, most importantly, I look unstoppable.

The first thought that crosses my mind is, "I am free."

I wait for volunteers, knowing that there is sure to be at least one. However, it seems that the females in my district are more curious about who I am and discovering my secrets than satisfying their bloodlust. The silence presses on me like a thousand crushing weights. Though it may seem overwhelming to most people, to me it seems like gravity, holding me onto the earth. Finally, Creon announces that I will be the tribute.

Freedom.

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><p>As I wait in the Justice Building for my final visitors, I start to closely observe my surroundings. I figure it may be a good habit to get into for the Hunger Games. The large, elaborate windows enlighten the room with a bright, pure light. There are two velvet cobalt couches lined with silver, and a table inlaid with silver and an assortment of gleaming blue gemstones. The light reflected off of the different facets, making the delicate reflections swirl on the cream colored walls.<p>

A stern Peacekeeper escorts my hysterical mother into the holding room, along with my numb father trailing behind them. "We were trying to protect you," my mother sobbed, her crying into my shoulder as if she was the one going into the arena of death. I pat her back mechanically.

I suddenly realize that I actually don't really care about my parents. They had imprisoned me, like a princess waiting for a prince that will never come. The anger seethes over me until I can't handle it anymore. Over my mother's senseless babble, I release all my frustration. "Stop!" I cry, hatred pouring into my voice. "Listen mother. Listen." She quiets down immediately. "You've never cared about my well-being. You've only cared about the heartache you were trying to save yourself if anything were to happen to me. Have you thought that I'm most likely going to die? There are twenty-four of us. Only one comes out."

"Of course I've thought about that-" she begins.

"Listen!" I yell, making her jump with fright. "You are never going to see me again! I'm going to die. You'll never hear my voice again. You'll never see the flush of my cheeks. You'll never see the sweat of my brow when I'm training. Doesn't that bother you?" I demand, still seething.

"Of course it does!" my mother begins to yell back, regaining her usual outlook on my life.

"Go! Just go!" I demand, pointing at the white marble door. "Leave!"

"But…" my mother tries to stop me.

"I have nothing to say," I say, narrowing my eyes. My hatred of my parents is clearly displayed in my hostility.

"I love you." The linger of a whisper is the only part of my mother that stays behind.

"I love you too." I feel the tears begin to make their way down my cheeks, caressing them.

I hear the hesitant knock, and wonder who could possibly be there to visit me. "Yes?" I say, hearing my voice crack. I instantly hate the discordant sound, and clear my throat.

"Are you okay?" I see a tentative electrifying blue eye, and I know exactly who it is.

"I don't even know you. Why are you here?" I ask curiously as he silently enters in the room, carefully observing me in particular.

"I…" he paused, considering the words with reluctance. "I'm not exactly sure. I just thought…" he paused once again, allowing me to acknowledge the fact that he seemed nervous. "I thought you may need someone to talk to. It doesn't seem like anybody knows you."

"That's because nobody does." I feel another silent tear trace its way down my cheek.

"Why is that?" he asked, compassion in his voice. His cobalt blue eyes seemed to spread warmth within me, a feeling I was unacquainted with. I've always heard the expression 'butterflies in your stomach', but I never thought it could be that strong.

"My parents… they locked me up in our basement."

I watched as his eyes widened in shock. "Why?"

"Well…" I begin, checking myself to make sure I was capable of answering. The words rushed out like a waterfall that has been dammed up for too long. "When I was little, my best friend and my parents' best friends were in the same family. As we now know, they were going bankrupt. They needed a quick way to earn some money, and stole jewels from the mines in order to keep themselves from going broke. The authorities caught them. My father was forced to personally shoot his best friend, along with the rest of his friend's family. Since then, my parents have seen every little thing as a potential threat to my wellbeing. Eventually, they grew so concerned that they locked me in the basement. I'm only allowed out on reaping days. Now I understand that it's not my safety they were worried about, but the heartache they would feel if I was gone. The feeling that they lost something that was once important."

Matt looked at me, and I just noticed then that I was still crying. He shyly raised a hand to my cheek, and wiped away a tear. "That's a lot."

"Yeah," I smiled through my tears.

After a few minutes of uncomfortable silence, he asked, "Shall we head down to the train?" while offering me his hand.

"Sure." I look at his open hand, and grasp it lightly to hoist myself to my feet. I smile at him, and he grins lopsidedly back. I feel a strong flush overcome my face, and a sense of desire imprison me within its blazing grip. He lets go, a few seconds after what is necessary.

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><p>When we arrive at the train, I notice that even after we part, Matt seems to be looking at me protectively. Is that hope I see in his eyes? He went to talk to my Mentor, Jaloux. I watch her skim her lips against his cheek without hesitation. However, her cold green eyes never stop glaring at me.<p>

I walk onto the train, only to see my district partner Roy. He has patchwork skin, red-bronze hair, and amber eyes. He looks and me and nods approvingly. I turn away with disgust.

Curiosity about every little object overwhelms me. I am interested in every unfamiliar thing, and there is quite a lot that is foreign to me. I rub my fingertips over materials I don't recognize, study windows, and look at everything with excitement.

I watch the train leave behind my district, my home, and all the people I thought I loved. I realize that I don't really mind. This gives me a new confidence and, just possibly, the strength to win the Hunger Games.

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><p><strong> Roy Rousseau's Point of View (by Isabugg)<strong>

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><p><em>"Oh, what ecstasy setting fires brings to my body!<br>What power I feel at the thought of fire!  
>...Oh, what pleasure, what heavenly pleasure!"<em>

— Joseph Kallinger

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><p>"Your name's Roy Rousseau, right?"<p>

It's too muggy inside this smothering, mundanely decorated confinement. The moisture in the air makes the bare skin of my arms and my collarbone sticky with a slight sheen of sweat, and no matter how many times I impatiently wipe my forehead with the back of my hand or slide my reedy fingers into my shock of crimson hair in an effort to air myself out, it still feels as if the sultry, stifling air is slowly suffocating me as it slithers its way through my throat.

"Why are you even asking?" I grumble, my voice quiet and throaty as I lean lazily into the plush, faded green armchair I was given to sit in. Its armrests are carelessly covered with sewn-on patches of fabrics of various patterns, and I absently let the pale, calloused pads of my fingers fiddle with them. "My mom must've told you everything about me already. Poor thing probably still thinks there's hope."

The man sitting across from me, his plump face rounded from years of feasting on District 1's sizable amount of delicacies, furrows his eyebrows with vexed frustration. "There _is_ hope for you, Roy," he stresses, his beady eyes narrowing with intensity, "And, as your psychologist, I promise you that I will find it."

I roll my amber eyes, the yellowness of them contrasting against the strands of red hair streaking down my forehead as my eyelashes brush lightly against the disheveled wisps. "And I still have yet to see your license," I gripe, straining my already sharp gaze, "For all I know, you could be scamming my mom out of all her hard-earned money."

"Your mother isn't paying me a _cent_ for my services." The man lets out an elongated groan, crossing his portly legs and bringing his meaty fingers up to knead his temple. "You're here because I want to help you. Like it or not, you have a problem. Everybody in the district has seen what you do with fire—"

"Oh, goodie. I've been trying to ruin my reputation." I flash him a dry smile, making the corners of my mouth begrudgingly crunch upward. "Maybe I should step it up a notch. Burn down a school, or something."

"This isn't a _joke!_" he grouses, leaning forward and letting his lips curl into a snarl, the look of a coyote about to pounce on its prey. "_Look_ at what your mental illness has done to you—your family, your social life, your own arms!"

Raising my eyebrows so that they disappeared into the tufts of scarlet hair tumbling down my forehead, I dart my golden gaze toward the pasty flesh of my forearms, noticing how the discoloration and inflammation of what had once been grotesque burn injuries twisted around my white skin like an angular vine. "...I don't have a mental illness," I mumble darkly, knotting my hands into stern fists.

"Are you really just going to keep telling yourself that, Roy?" the man asks, his voice softening as if he thought that he had hit a weak point, "Or are you going to be a man and take charge of your pyromania?"

Swiftly and viciously, I raise my head and constrict my eyes into an icy, cutting glare. "As much as I love having both my sanity and manhood questioned by a chubby old man," I hiss through my teeth, my jaw tightening as I sharply stood up and took bitter steps toward the exit, ramming my clenched fists into the cramped pockets of my jeans, "I think I'll be taking my leave. _Au revoir._"

"Roy?" he confusedly calls out, his already grating voice cracking with surprise as his hands flew reflexively to the armrests of the stuffed chair his large body had been crammed into.

I ignore him, crinkling the bridge of my nose grimly as I jerk the door of his home violently open, a brisk breeze from the outside gushing over my tightened features and immediately chilling the perspiration that had been gathering at my hairline and collarbone.

"Roy! Get back he—"

My wrist roughly clicks as I step outside and slam the door behind my stiffened frame, cutting off the gravelly voice of the man I had been scheduled to spend my entire afternoon with.

The lean muscles cording over the bones in my arms tauten as I grit my teeth harshly with muted fury, my eyebrows scrunched together and my chest flaring.

_I'm not crazy. I'm completely_ _normal_.

Almost as a cruel reminder, the swollen scar tissue coiling around my arms prickles as it rubs against the light material of my shirt. Hidden in the miniscule fissures are yellowing bruises, hardly noticeably among the already ruined flesh, and the muscles in my stomach suddenly begin mangling together with nausea as my amber eyes glance at them.

_I'm not crazy_, I stubbornly repeat to myself, _I'm not._

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><p>It's a brisk day, the sun paled in color by transparent clouds as they slowly streak through the sky in soft, pastel spirals. The wind is gentle, its graze like the flutter of a butterfly's wing against the crook of my neck as it slithers against my skin.<p>

It would've been enjoyable if I hadn't been walking toward the Town Square for the annual reaping ceremony.

Surrounding me are teenagers around my age whose expressions shine with youthful energy, their smiles both eager and deadly as they hurry down the shining streets of District 1. It seems as if I hear, "I'm _definitely_ volunteering this year!" after rounding each corner, the sentence either slicked with the mischievous voice of a male trying to impress his infatuation or the high-pitched shrillness of a female livening herself up for the event.

Lingering with these enthusiastic exclamations are faint whispers, my name snaking through the barely audible words. I pick up traces of, "He just seems so _scary,_" and, "He would be so attractive without those _scars_," and I can only furrow my eyebrows and sigh as I pretend to not hear them.

I plant my feet in the rest of the seventeens once I reach the square, and the shrill murmurs only seem to increase, making my skull ache as they cleave my eardrums.

"I hear that he speaks French. Ancient languages are _so_ hot."

"His scars are disgusting, though. Such a shame."

"Don't forget that he's a _psycho!_"

I'm almost relieved when I notice the mayor mounting the stage, his crisp suit spotless and his hair, the brownness of it once vivid, gradually fading into a dull white. The whiteness matches the stage, its unstained surface glinting in the delicate sunlight and distracting from the two crystal bowls placed at either side of the platform, their chiseled expanses carrying what must have been hundreds of sheets of parchment.

The mayor nervously adjusts his tie, the fabric of the adornment a soft red silk, before leaning toward the single microphone propped on the stage and clearing his throat in an effort to silence the quiet chatter slinking throughout the crowd. It only succeeds is riling the audience up more, making exuberant young males pound their fists into the air and gruffly call out eager exclamations of their plans to volunteer.

Slowly and quietly, almost snake-like, the chosen escort for the year steps onto the stage, his shined dress shoes catching the light of the sun as he roughly pulls the long sleeves of his blue dress shirt up his arms and loosens his tie, a black blazer hanging loosely off his forearm. His eyebrows furrow, making the golden wisps of hair that had fallen across his forehead twitch from the slight movement before he sternly flashes a glare toward the audience, silver eyes icy and threatening.

The crowd almost instantly slips into a frightened silence, making the muffled taps of the escort's shoes echo through the area as he unhurriedly ambles toward the elegant chair set for him at the back of the stage. As he seats himself, the gleam of the multiple gemstones embellishing the brim of his cheeks is apparent even through the light haze, somehow making his intimidating air more thick.

"Well!" the mayor uncomfortably chuckles, running an aged hand through his locks of graying hair, "I guess now is a good time to introduce our new escort. Everyone, give a warm welcome to Creon Argent!"

Creon almost succeeds in looking bored as his gaze twitches from the mayor toward the audience, making everyone skittishly bring their hands up to clap, the sound of it weak and hushed. He puts his elbow on his chair's armrest before resting his chin in his palm and halfheartedly waving, the movement sharp and quick. Before his acclamation died down, an extensive line of past victors proceeded to mount the stage, all of them neatly filing themselves toward the back. Some of them were as young as sixteen while others were in their late thirties, emphasizing the fact that District 1 proudly owns a high success rate.

I could almost feel the excitement of everyone in the pool of possible tributes rise at the sight of them.

The mayor, sensing that Creon's impression was slowly fading, immediately dives into his annual speech regarding the roots of the games: the rebellion, the Capitol's wondrous victory, and the punishment that would forever be blighted upon the districts.

As his voice drones through the area, soft echoes ringing in the distance, I let my cat-like eyes wander to the sides of the crowd. I had avoided seeing my mother after what had happened with the psychologist, knowing that he wouldn't waste any time complaining about my behavior and hammering the thought that I was an unstable lunatic deeper into my mother's already thoroughly wounded heart.

Instead, I see my father, his face reddened from doubtless drunkenness and his stance so crooked that he appeared to be leaning on the disapproving man he had been situated next to. His cloudy eyes, the irises once being a vivid mirror of my own before his alcoholism, seem to lock onto the sky, signifying that he was in the spiraling depths of a drunken daze.

The moment the mayor utters out his closing words, Creon promptly stands up from his chair and glides to the front of the stage, his silver eyes pondering each of the faces in the crowd. His chest rises as he lets his slender fingers wrap around the black shaft of the microphone, putting his mouth more close to the top of it to make his voice more lucid.

"We have a sort of...situation this year," he mumbles, his voice sleek as it slides out of his mouth, "The adults in this community have made their concerns about one particular male youth clear. After much debate, the authoritative figures have come to a major decision regarding the issue, which will be for the benefit of both the male in question and this entire district."

It's almost as if every frame in the crowd visually stiffens in response, lips parting with silent protests as Creon sternly continued.

"Our solution, of course, ended up including sending this male to the arena. All we needed was parental consent," he lilts, letting his piercing silver eyes wander, "and we received that this morning."

With terrible suddenness, it had become difficult to breathe, making me protectively cross my arms in front of my chest and unconsciously rise my shoulders until strands of my crimson hair brushed lightly against them. I swallow hard in an attempt to soothe my constricted airways, only to have to harshly crinkle my eyebrows together when it made the aching worse.

"So, it is my duty to inform you all that because of this male's disruption to the peace of this district, he will be our pre-picked male tribute this year." Creon takes a moment to close his eyes, bringing his reedy fingers up to his forehead as if announcing this was truly straining him. Abruptly, almost strikingly, he opens them, his irises locking directly onto mine from the stage.

"Roy Rousseau," he strongly declares, and I feel my entire being go numb as every head in the audience turns to me, "If you can't be a functioning member of this society, perhaps you can be a functioning member of the arena."

A thick layer of silence spills over the crowd, smothering me until I feel each of my limbs sternly tense up, like it was slowly freezing me to my very core. Tightening my jaw until my teeth ached, I flash a blazing glare toward my father, expecting him to be the one responsible for the _parental consent_ that meant my possible death.

When my golden eyes fasten viciously on him, the wicked grin that I had expected to see strewn across his features was obliterated from my mind; he was eyeing me from where he was standing with his mouth hung floppily open and the dark circles under his eyes more prominent than I have ever seen them, the irises muddled and lifeless, as if my reaping had suddenly cleansed his body of every trace of alcohol and left him miserably sobered.

A slight woman, her build willowy and fragile and her long wave of hair tinted with a bright scarlet, seems to have found her way to his side. The faint freckles scattered across the brim of her cheeks contorts as she pinches her features with guilt, her gentle eyes refusing to meet mine as I peered at her with disbelief surging through my veins.

My mother is finally done with me.

I force a deep, shaking breath into my lungs, feeling my strained throat squeal with protest as I struggled to relax my tensed muscles.

"...All right," I coolly slur, forcing my fake composure to remain intact as I flash the countless amount of spectators around me a crooked, varmint-like grin, "Get ready, District 1! I'm about to give you all one _hell_ of a show!"

* * *

><p>"I regretted it the moment I did it."<p>

My mother sits across from me on a small wooden stool, her knobby knees apparent under the hem of her burgundy dress and her knuckles red from her constant nervous fumbling with her fragile, thin fingers. "I swear to God, Roy, I—I just, I didn't know what to do! I was running out of options!"

"You could've maybe, I don't know, considered not sending me to fight for my life amongst a bunch of maniacal, blood thirsty screwballs," I mutter airily, slouching into the plush cushions of the couch in the visiting room, "Just a thought."

"Creon just asked me if I wanted you to get better! To get rid of your mental illn—"

"I don't," I gripe, my eyes icy as I darkly glower at my mother's sylphlike frame, "have a mental illness. Maybe you do. I can give at least twenty good reasons why you might have a severe case of paranoia, or possibly porphyrophobia, the fear of the color purple—"

"Roy, stop. Don't make everything a joke," she murmurs in a soft undertone, lowering her head and making her straggled rush of scarlet hair spill across her frontside. "Maybe...Maybe the arena will be good for you."

My eyebrows rise into a skeptical glare, my biceps tautening as my hands clench into bloodless fists. "Good for me?" I have to struggle to stifle my fury, biting the inside of my cheek and feeling the skin break between my teeth. "You're a genius, mom. Really. Maybe a little _death_ will make me into the son you've always wanted."

"_N—No!_ Roy, that's not what I meant at all!" My mother begins to tear up, the moisture making her eyes shine with a sickly sheen. "I _love_ you, I would never—"

"Just..." I exhale sharply, raking my gaze to the ground. "Just leave. I promise I'll be dead and out of your hair soon."

There is a few moments where a thick layer of silence weighs against my shoulders, so dense that I feel as if I'm seconds away from curling up into a delicate ball in an attempt to take shelter from it.

It's nothing compared to the agonizing, harrowing pain that sears through my veins when I heard my mother slowly get up from her stool and walk out of the room, leaving me to face the monstrous claws of the doubtless slaughter and destruction of the arena completely and utterly...alone.

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><p>My district partner is small and delicate, like a porcelain doll. She's...kind of pretty. In the classical sort of way.<p>

Her petite and fragile stature gives her an air of being entirely breakable, and it doesn't help that her already rosy cheeks flush in color whenever she's even the slightest bit flustered.

Even now, as we're riding in a sleek Capitol car towards the train, she seems nothing but curious—none of the fear I would expect from a girl of her size apparent in her deep, piercing blue eyes—as she peers out the windows and watches the expansive roads skid speedily underneath us.

I let the corner of my mouth perk into a crooked smile.

"_Notre destin attend_," I whisper under my breath, barely audible.

_Our destiny awaits._


	2. District Two Reapings

****A/N: ****Yet again I find myself greeting you. Yes it's SneverusSnapers here, your wonderful commentator for the time being. I represent the authors in general up here. Now, we'd all like to say a big thank you to all who reviewed the last chapter, this could very well be the making of a new thing! It's actually quite convenient to do, you know, all you have to do is write one in every twenty-four chapters. Also writing with 24 people has its downsides. You try co-ordinating it… but that's why we have mikki105 and myself! Okay then, onto district two, this chapter is written by… the rampaging Mrslukecastellean (D2 female) and the stupendous FalconFlight (D2 male)!

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><p><strong>Mikki105's<strong> **A/N** : Hey guys! I'm Mikki, creator of 24 Tributes, 24 Authors. I just wanted to say thank you to all my authors and all you readers for helping my mere idea take shape and make this! I am working with such talented writers and I'm so glad to have you all on my team! Now, the District Two reapings! Remember, reviews mean the world to our authors!

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><p><strong>Hyre Fletching's Point of View (by FalconFlight)<strong>

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><p>I wake up on the floor. I am not surprised; one becomes accustomed to waking up on the floor after living in the same room as Jaime for eighteen years. Even at eighteen, my younger twin brother lacks a sense of maturity which I'm beginning to think he'll never gain, and he loves pushing me out of my bed.<p>

Sure enough, when I look up, I see my brother standing over me and grinning impishly behind a curtain of auburn hair. "Good morning, Hyre!" Jaime exclaims as if nothing is wrong.

I glare at him as I push myself to my feet. "Thanks," I snap sarcastically. "I'm already ugly enough without you giving me more bruises."

Jaime's mischievous smirk widens. "You're not ugly; I'm just handsomer than you are."

"Is that why Dad loves you so much?" I ask.

Jaime and I chuckle. I don't joke about stuff like this with any one else. Not even my close friends (not like I have many, anyway) can even talk about my relationship with Dad without getting a sharp glare because it's true. My dad loves Jaime, and he hates me. He hates that I'm not as athletic as Jaime, he hates that I'm not as handsome as Jaime, he hates that I'd rather play the piano than do Career training, and he hates me in general. Not a lot of people know that, though.

"So, which one of us is going to volunteer this year?" Jaime presses; there is a certain seriousness in his voice for once because there is one thing that Jaime won't joke about: the Hunger Games.

I shrug. "I don't know; this is our last year we'll be eligible."

Since we started Career training when we were both ten, we both wanted to win the Hunger Games. Jaime just sort of wanted to do it, but I wanted to do it so that Dad might just care about me. Neither of us wanted volunteering to affect our relationship, though. When our first reaping came, we agreed that every year, one of us could volunteer if we wanted to and the other one would wait until the next year. I could have volunteered when I was twelve, or when I was fourteen, or sixteen. Jaime could've volunteered when he was thirteen, fifteen, or seventeen. Neither of us did, though. I never had the guts, and I'm not sure what Jaime's excuse is. All I know is that this is our last year we'll be able to go, and we both still want to.

"Why don't you volunteer?" Jaime suggests. "Maybe when you die, Dad will realize he actually loves you."

I wince slightly at the suggestion because that is exactly what I'm hoping will happen. Jaime is joking around, but he doesn't realize that I'd go to the Hunger Games just to die if it meant Dad would care. He probably won't, though. He'll probably laugh as a mutt tears my head off or as another tribute spears me in the gut.

_Stop it, _I chide myself. _He will care. You'll volunteer, and for once he'll care._

"I've got a better idea!" Jaime exclaims suddenly, breaking my train of thought. "Why don't we have a little race?"

"Excuse me?" I have no idea what Jaime means.

"Why don't we see who can get up to the podium first? We'll both have a fair shot at replacing the reaped tribute, and it'll be fun," Jaime explains.

I glare at him. "You're ten times faster than me! You'll beat me for sure!"

"We have to bully our way through all the other eighteen year-olds, remember?" Jaime is grinning again like he always does before any competition. "I think it'll be pretty fair."

"I don't know-" I begin.

"Come on, please!" Jaime begs. I am still doubtful, however, and Jaime can tell. His smile disappears and he puts on his serious face. "Look, do you have a better solution? We've both had three shots at volunteering, so it's only fair that we both have a chance to enter the Hunger Games."

_He's right, _I think, and if we don't find a solution now, we'll be fighting to the stage anyway. _I'm going to regret this later. _"You're on."

Jaime's face lights up and he is grinning ear-to-ear. He hugs me briefly before dashing downstairs. I smile as he runs off and I wonder why he's happy: because I agreed to the race or because he's confident he's going to win.

I walk downstairs a couple minutes later after I'm sure no one is in the house. Jaime is probably down at the Training Center, trying to squeeze in some last practice before the reaping, Mom's out shopping for a dinner that I will never have, and Dad is doing whatever he does. I'm really not sure what that is; he never bothered to tell me. He probably told Jaime, but not me.

As I meander through the house, I pause outside the living room. Plush couches and polished coffee tables imported from District 1 take up most of the space, but shoved into one corner is a grand piano. The paint had once been glossy, but the piano has not been used in years, and now what had once been a fine layer of shiny paint is a thick layer of dust. The grand piano used to occupy the center of the room when I still played, but the corner had been its home since Jaime and I stared Career training.

"_You can't be a Career and play the piano; you'll have to choose. Luckily, I've already made the decision for you." _I cringe as I remember Dad's harsh voice. _"No son of mine will play the piano." _That was the last time I had ever even touched a piano and had marked the first time I realized Dad hated me.

_And the piano still stands today to mock me, _I think darkly.

An idea forms in my head as I stare at the piano. Dad's not home; I could play again. _The piano is right here, and no one would know._ Slowly, almost unconsciously, I walk towards the grand piano. I sit on the black bench and I run my fingers lightly over the keys. I am still afraid to press down, though. I am too scared to let a single noise from the instrument escape, so I sit there and touch the keys that I once associated with notes on a staff. In a matter of minutes, my hands are waltzing up and down the keyboard, never making a sound. As long as I don't think too much about what I am doing, I can get through entire pieces from memory. It feels great to play again, even if I'm not actually playing.

"Hyre."

At the sound of my name, I panic. My heart rate speeds up, and I lose track of where I am in the song. My entire body tenses up, and my hands come crashing down on random notes, eliciting an awful, scratchy and out-of-tune sound from the piano.

I turn around slowly to see who had said my name. I cringe as I see Dad looming over me, a stern expression on his face. He doesn't say anything; I just have to look at him to know that he hates me. There is a look in his dark brown eyes that screams disappointment, and I shrink under his glare. I slowly slide towards the end of the bench and get up. As I creep across the living room to the door, Dad's gaze never leaves me. He keeps me pinned to the wall with his glower as I sneak out of the living room.

When I have snuck around the corner and have convinced myself that Dad can no longer see me, I turn and run. I bolt for the front door as fast as I can move. I'm not very quick, but the desire to escape Dad's angry glaring is so strong, I force myself to pour in as much speed as I can manage.

I relax only after I've sprinted five blocks. My lungs burn from the effort and my sides hurt like hell. I nearly collapse on the sidewalk, but I mange to reach a bench before completely giving out. My entire body is now physically exhausted from the effort, and I am now convinced that Dad won't care when I die. Not after that display. I hadn't even been playing, but that doesn't matter. _"No son of mine will play the piano."_

That's when I remember the reaping. That's when I remember that I have to be there to race with Jaime to the stage. Now, I'm reconsidering volunteering. If I know Dad will not care when I die, why should I go to the Hunger Games? Why should I throw my life away for something that isn't going to happen now?

_I have to go, _I think. _If Dad hates me, he's probably convinced I'm going to die if I volunteer. I have to go to prove him wrong._

And suddenly, I'm not planning on volunteering to die. I'm going to volunteer to win. I stand up with a new sense of confidence flowing through me, and I march back towards my house because I still need to put on my tuxedo. Secretly, I pray that Dad has already left for the reaping so I won't have to see him.

Luckily, Dad is not there, so I slip into the house, run upstairs and change into my tuxedo. I frown at my reflection as I examine myself in the mirror. It's not difficult to tell that Jaime is the handsomer twin. I'm average. Average height, average brown hair, average brown eyes, etc. Looks are the other part of the Hunger Games that people don't realize they're playing. The sexy or cute tributes tend to get more sponsors than us plain ones. I can't focus on that now, though. The only game I have to play right now is the one against Jaime; I have to be the first one to the stage.

With that in mind, I leave the house and head towards the square. Much to my disappointment, I arrive there after Jaime does. I see my twin standing in the eighteen year-old section, smiling as if he has already won the Games. I shoulder my way through the crowd of fellow Careers to where he is standing.

"You sure took your sweet time getting here," Jaime announces.

"A 'hello' would've sufficed," I snap back.

Jaime is about to say some witty comeback, but the mayor taps the microphone to do a sound check and silences everyone. We listen silently as he talks about the standard reaping stuff: the history of Panem, the Dark Days, and finally, the Treaty of Treason. Then, he reads a list of our victors. We have the most victors by far, and I'm pretty sure 12 still doesn't have one even after twenty-four years of playing the Games. The mayor reads off 'Malcolm Enclave'. The name sounds familiar, and I realize he's the mentor this year. I wonder how old he is and if he is still eligible for the Hunger Games.

Finally, the mayor announces Polly Clearwater, our escort. She walks up to the stage, smiling broadly. She has aqua hair and aqua eyes, and people loves placing bets on how old she actually is. No one knows, but the general estimate is around 40. She reaches into the glass ball for the girls and pulls out a small slip.

"Do we have a Mary Sweeney out there?" Polly asks cheerfully.

A twelve year-old girl begins to ascend the stairs. She doesn't look like a Career, and it's sad to know that District 2 won't have a victor this year. A reaped victor, that is. When the trembling girl reaches the stage, Polly calls out for volunteers. About a dozen girls surge forward to replace the girl, but only one emerges victorious, and she looks kind of familiar too. The girl is thin, but her black tank top shows off her muscles. The tank top seems rather tight across her chest, though I can't tell from the other side of the square. She's about fourteen and has long chocolate brown hair, but she has the attitude of a skilled Career.

"And what's your name?" Polly presses. She's been smiling throughout the entire reapings, and I wonder if her face hurts. I also wonder if she and Jaime would get along.

"Onyx Marsha-" the girl begins. I realize why she seems familiar; we've see each other at school sometimes. I don't know her terribly well, though.

"And your age?" Polly interrupts.

Onyx glares at her. "Fourtee-"

"Fourteen? Excellent," Polly continues before Onyx can finish. Mary steps off stage, and Onyx sits down with Malcolm. "And now for the boy!"

Jaime tenses next to me, and I know why. I wonder if Jaime will volunteer right away or if he will have the respect to wait. We both watch in silence as Polly reaches her hand into the glass ball with boy names and feels around a bit. I can feel my heart pounding and blood roaring in my ears. The seconds it takes for Polly to pull out the name of the male tribute feels like ages, but finally, she leans towards the microphone and reads off the name of the male tribute.

"George Meum," Polly announces. "Do we have a-"

Polly is cut off as George Meum, a fifteen year-old, begins to walk towards the stage. Jaime doesn't hesitate. He suddenly charges forward, elbowing his way as fast as he can through the crowd of eighteen year-olds. I had been expecting him to start running early, so I'm not surprised when he begins to shove his way forward. What I lack in speed I make up in the ability to push people out of the way. Jaime, on the other hand, is having trouble forcing his way out.

When George Meum reaches the top of the stairs, Jaime and I both burst from the crowd. With no obstacles, Jaime begins to race towards the stairs. I struggle after him, still tired from my sprint early today. Dread fills my heart as Jaime reaches the top step. He's about to take everything from me, about to take my one chance to redeem myself, about to crush my dream… and then he slips. I can't see what he slips on, but one moment he is about to step onto the stage, and the next, he's at the bottom of the stairs right next to my foot.

I don't wait a second longer. I propel myself up the stairs and force myself to the top. At that moment where I am staring at Polly's slightly confused expression, I don't care about my lungs burning or my sides aching. I just care that I won. I beat Jaime. For once, I actually beat him.

"Excuse me," Polly taps me on the shoulder. "What are you doing up here?"

"I'm volunteering," I tell her.

Her smile falters slightly as if she does not like the idea of rearranging the order of the reapings. "We really should wait-"

"What's the point?" Malcolm asks. "He's just going to volunteer again."

Polly nods affirmatively. "So, what's your name?"

"Hyre Fletchi-" I begin, but she cuts me off.

"Age?" Polly presses.

"Eightee-" I start, but Polly interrupts again.

"Got it, okay." Polly turns to the crowd. "District 2, I give you your tributes! Onyx Marshall and Hyre Fletching!"

There's a bit of cheering; I don't have many friends, though. Just then, Jaime stumbles to the stage. "Wait!"

Polly turns, and for the first time, a look of true irritation crosses over her face. "What?"

"He can't go! I have to go!" Jaime exclaims. "He can't volunteer! I was going to-"

"Peacekeepers?" Polly points at Jaime, and Peacekeepers come down on him like a swarm of bees.

Jaime fights and struggles, but the Peacekeepers drag my twin away saying stuff Mom would never approve of. Just before he disappears, he casts me a glare of hatred. For a moment, I am confused. I had thought that Jaime would be happy that I get to go compete in the Hunger Games, but I know he's not happy. He hates me now. I wonder if a death sentence is worth more than the love of my brother, but there's no time for pondering the answer. Polly is coaxing us to shake hands, and I can see the group of Peacekeepers that will take us to the Justice Building, so I shake hands with Onyx and let the Peacekeepers lead me away.

Nobody comes to visit me. I sit in the Justice Building alone because they all hate me. Mom hates me for stealing Jaime's big moment, Jaime hates me for beating him at his own game, and Dad… Dad just hates me. I wonder if they'll forgive me when I die or if I will die hated and alone.

_Who cares how I die? _I think. _I have to be killed first, and I still plan on winning._

As my hour for goodbyes slowly dwindles down, I realize I need a token. Usually, parents bring their kids tokens. My parents do not care, though, so I will have to find a token to bring. I comb my hand through my hair, trying to think of ideas, when something catches my eye: a bracelet made of three red strings. Jaime had given it to me as a birthday present years ago when he completely forgot we had the same birthday. At the last minute, he tied together three strings and called it a present. I've worn it everyday ever since.

_You gave this to me a day you forgot I existed, brother, _I think, fingering the bracelet. _Isn't it strange that I remembered this the day you wished I never existed?_

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><p><strong>Onyx Marshal's Point of View (by Mrslukecastellean)<strong>

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><p>"Onyx...Onyx...wake up."<p>

I open my eyes slowly and see the smiling face of my brother, Mason. His bright blue eyes, his soft chestnut brown hair, his toothy grin. I can see every detail of his face, even though it's still pretty much dark a wonderful way to wake up.

"Hey Mason. What time is it?" I ask with a yawn.

"4am."

"4? I usually don't need to be up until 5." I whine.

"You've forgotten already. Ha! I knew you would forget about today! Some Career you are."

"What? What's today?" I ask, pretending I don't already know.

I jump out of bed and scream at the top of my lungs "IT'S REAPING DAY!"

"Oh thank god! I thought you had forgotten."

"How could I? I've been training for this since I was 3."

"And a 1/2."

"So what! I am sooooo ready for this."

"Don't get cocky. You might get Reaped, and you might not. Remember that. And also, your 14. You have 4 more years to be in the Games."

"I'm getting in this year Mason."

"OK. You can try. But why not wait until next year? It would be way easier that way."

"Mason, I'm going this year, and you can't stop me."

"Why do you want to go so badly?"

"Because you didn't." I answer simply.

I walk toward my bathroom, knowing Mason won't follow me in.

"OK Onyx, but the Reapings aren't for another 6 hours. If you change your mind, that is fine too."

"I'm not changing my mind." I yell.

I pick up my toothbrush and slather it with the lime green paste. I am so exhausted, but I know I need to get myself started. An early day is more time to train. This I learned at a young age. I add some water to my toothbrush and start scrubbing at my teeth viciously. I scrub until every nook and space in my mouth is foamy and threatening to spill out everywhere. I spit it out and immediately look back at the mirror, smiling. Still not white enough. I'll do this later. I have training to get to.

I walk out of the bathroom and go downstairs to the laundry room to find my training clothes. I have special clothes, made specially for my body shape. Everything I own is made so that I can look great, and feel great while being great.

I look through the piles of my clothes that I washed yesterday, and yet, I can't find my clothes. A pair of black shorts and a white tank top. You would think they wouldn't be that hard to find. And yet, they aren't there.

"Mason...where are my training clothes?"

"What training clothes?" He asks, looking up from his bowl of cereal.

"The ones I wear to TRAINING EVERYDAY! Where did you put them? Your throwing me off my schedule."

"They are in your room smart one."

"I washed them yesterday though."

"And I got you new ones. Go put them on."

I race back up to my room before Mason even has time to be a responsible adult and tell me to stop running in the house.

Allow me to explain. My parents died when I was a baby, and when Mason was 13. Ever since then, Mason has been my legal guardian. I refuse to call him my father, even if the Peacekeepers have told me he is , he's 27 now, and I am 14,and he has been my guardian, my trainer, and my best friend all rolled up in one. And today, he might even be my death sentence.

If I don't get to training soon, I am going to die.

I close the door a little bit too hard and collapse against the door. Mason doesn't come up to investigate, so I scan my room. Right there on my bed I see a pair of forest green shorts and a black tank top. My new training clothes.

I pull off my pajamas and slip into my new clothes. The shorts fit fine, but the top is slightly tight. I walk downstairs to the kitchen, hands on my hips.

"You like them?" Mason asks.

"Their fine. But I think you got the wrong size top."

"Let me see the tag."

I spin around and flip my hair up so he can access the tag.

"No. This is it."

I groan. "Then I gained weight."

"That isn't possible. You trained for 4 hours yesterday,right?"

"Yes."

"And you ate the right portion size right, on all three meals?"

"Yes."

"Then I don't know what you did. Train harder today, and don't eat breakfast."

"OK. Thanks for sorting that out for me Mason. Your a lifesaver."

I head toward the door as Mason calls "Be home in 4 hours, or I am not letting you volunteer."

I grab my sneakers and leave without giving him an answer. It's better if I just not argue. There isn't enough time in my schedule for that. Especially not today.

There is a benefit to living right next to the gym. For one thing, I can go whenever I want and never need Mason to give me a ride. The second is that I can get to the gym without the risk of other wannabe tributes coming and interrupting me while I am training myself.

I swing the door open and nod to the man at the desk. Today it's Micheal.

"Hey Onyx. Here for training?" He asks with a smile.

"Yeah. What else would I be here for? Is there anybody else here?"

"Um...it's 4:15 in the morning. What do you think?"

"I'll take that as a yes."

"No. There isn't. Your the only one here. And I'll make sure nobody else comes in and interrupts you while your in there with your psycho crazy girl tribute workout training program."

"Well good morning to you too." I say.

Then I continue into room 1, my special spot that nobody else goes into. Well, they shouldn't. I pay 30 dollars a month to make sure nobody does. And there's a reason. All my supplies are in there. Everything Mason has declared or deemed too dangerous or unsafe to work with at home is here. And the beauty of it- he has no idea that I am even using this room. As far as he knows, I am using the public rooms where anyone can train to become better. And he also thinks I have an instructor when he isn't there. Nope. Like that would ever happen.

I glance quickly at the clock on the wall. 4:20. I have until 9 to get training. At 4:40 Mason will show up to make sure that I am working, as opposed to watching the boys martial arts class that also comes here at the same time I am in training. They sometimes come and watch me train, and in return, I watch them occasionally and spar so they can get a feel for battling real warriors. I'm better then most of them.

Anyway, back to training. I pick up the dummies I was working with yesterday and place them back on their hooks on the ceiling. Then I pick up my knives, sword, and bow and arrows, positioning them around so I can get to them. I have an elaborate routine you see. Very strenuous. Very hard. Only for the most skilled way of training. And I am most definitely at that level.

I look at the clock again. 4:39. Damn. Mason will be here soon.

I run out of the room with my supplies, then run next door, to the public room. Mason is waiting.

"Where were you?"

"Getting some of the more experienced weaponry." I answer smartly.

He furrows his brows, but then thinks otherwise and helps me put the weapons around the room.

"Let me see what you've got." He says.

"Half the routine?"

"Full."

"But you know I can't get that end part! Come on Mason, I'll break my wrist."

"Do it Onyx. I'll spot you."

"Fine." I mumble.

I start at the tape X on the floor near the door, and get ready to start. This routine combines weaponry work with gymnastics, for strength, agility, and...grace. I don't get how grace will ever help me, but I do it anyway.

I put my arms up, point my right foot back, and push off into my first front flip. I rotate my hands over into a cartwheel, then return upright at the knife station Mason and I have set up. I throw the first knife, landing it in the neck of the first dummy. Then I let the second slide off my fingertips and it embeds itself into the shoulder of the same one. I throw my last knife, and it lands smoothly in the heart of the dummy.

Then I turn around and flip backwards. Once,twice,three times. I've landed where the sword is. I pick it up, slash diagonally, lunge back, and do a no handed cartwheel, sword still in hand. When I return upward, I stab the sword into the second dummy, right in the heart.

I smirk, drop the sword, and jump up onto the uneven bars we have in here. I twist around once, let go, and roll forward and between Mason's legs. Just as planned. And then comes the end. I run forward.

"Mason, I can't do this."

"You can. GO FOR IT!"

I push off onto my fingertips, swing my legs over my head, and then replace my fingers in front of me on the balance beam. I jump up into a split jump, then shove my feet back over my head and land on the beam cleanly. This is the hard part. A triple back handspring with a round off into a cartwheel. Extremely tough. Even I haven't mastered it yet.

"Go for it Onyx!"

I swivel around on my toes, then push off backward. One, two, three handsprings. Then I push off into my round off. Just when my feet are about to hit the beam again, my fingers slip, and I go headfirst off the beam. I put my hands down before my head collides with the floor, then fall on my butt.

"Come on Onyx! You had it! You had it, and then you screwed it up."

"I slipped Mason."

"Ha! You slipped. And next time you slip, maybe you won't get another chance at it. Do it again."

"What?"

"I said,do ."

I go back over to the beam and repeat the process, with the same results.

"Again." Mason demands.

"I can't. I'm not that flexible."

"We'll work on it tomorrow."

"I'll be on a train tomorrow. On my way to the Capitol."

"Not if you can't get that round off into a cartwheel."

I'm fed up by that point, so I turn around on the floor and go into my round off. My feet hit the floor, and the second they do, I push off and go into my cartwheel. I look at Mason, who is laughing.

"You got it. Onyx, you just got it. Completely. Flawlessly."

"And now I can volunteer for the Games."

I walk out of the room, drenched in sweat, and walk down the hall toward the door. A group of boys from the martial arts class look over at me as I get some water from the machine. I lift the cup to my mouth and see one of them watching me very closely.

"May I help you?"

"Are you volunteering for the Games?"

"Yeah, I was thinking about it. Are you?"

"Mmhmm. Duh."

"It'll be my pleasure to kill you then."

Then I stride back into the training room, sneakers in hand, basking in the wonderful sound of the other boys laughter as they taunt their cocky friend.

I once again look at the clock. 6am. I still have 3 hours, and for once, I don't want to train. I've shown Mason that I know how to handle my weapons, and if I get into the Games, what else is there for me to learn? I can also learn things in the Capitol. I've heard that you train there too. So I'm set really.

"What should you be doing right now?"

"I don't know the answer you want Mason."

"Then I'll help you out. See that treadmill over there?"

I look over where he's pointing. A treadmill with one of those pairs of simulation goggles, where you can imagine yourself running through a place, right next to a whole bunch of other exercise equipment.

"Yeah. I see it."

"Get on it. Put on the glasses. Then I'll come and get you when it's time to come home."

I take a step toward the treadmill, but Mason pushes me back. I groan again, turn around, and handspring over, over and over and over again. I count 17 by the time I touch down next to the exercise equipment.

Mason sprints over as I step up. I look at the touch screen, trying to decide on the location of where I want to run.

"I know where you should run." Mason says with a smile.

He looks at the pad and chuckles. Then he pushes a button, and I place the glasses on my face. The location instantly makes me happy, and I smile at Mason. I can't see him with the glasses on, but I know he's smiling back.

I am running through the Hunger Games Arena from two years ago. Through a dense wood, around a river and through a huge grove of trees. Then I see the vague image of a boy up ahead. I keep running, and after I pass the boy, he follows. I increase my running rate and keep running.

"Time to go." Mason says.

"But I've only been running for 20 minutes."

"No...actually, you were running for 2 hours."

"So...it's 9am?"

"Um...9:25 actually."

"Uhhhh. You should have come 25 minutes ago."

I tear off the glasses and run out the door, and back home again. Once in my own room, I get into the shower and wash everything. Got to be clean when I volunteer.

When I emerge, I find nothing on my bed, like a certain gorgeous emerald green dress that Mason promised he would buy. Well, There are other ways to look fabulous.

I slip my training tank top and a pair of extremely skinny jeans on again and admire my reflection in the mirror. Long chocolate brown hair, deep almond set hazel eyes, and creamy pale skin. I take a brush and run it through my hair, trying to look as nice as possible. I quickly add some clear lip gloss and red lipstick, and then I rifle through my closet for shoes. I find a pair of black flats and put them on. They look good, but are also very functional. I can run in these. To volunteer. Oh yes. The thought makes me so happy.

I rush down the steps, ignoring Mason's attempts to scold me. He sucks at it. He starts laughing when he threatens to make me stay home.

I look at my watch. 9:50. And the square is barely three blocks away. I take my time walking, and end up in the crowd of 14 year old girls as soon as our mayor introduces our escort, Polly Clearwater, and our mentor, Malcolm Enclave.

"First, the girls." Polly says in a bright, peppy voice. She has aqua hair, aqua eyes, and a clearly altered appearance. People love to guess how old she is. Most guess in her 20's, but I know better. She's in her 40's at least.

She swirls her hand into the glass ball of names, and then...she calls out the name.

"Is there a Mary Sweeney in the square." She asks with a smile. She's been smiling for a really long time. Nobody can smile that long unless they can't feel it. She's gotten work done.

A scrawny little 12 year old ascends the stairs. We won't have a Victor. Oh duh! Yeah we will. It'll be me!

Polly calls out for volunteers, and I run as fast as I possibly can to the stage. A dozen or so other girls come as well, but only I am victorious in getting there first.

"What is your name?" She asks positively.

"Onyx Marsha-"

"Age?" She interrupts before I can finish.

"Fourt-"

"Fourteen? Splendid!"

Mary steps off the stage, and I go and sit next to my new mentor. Malcolm Enclave. Sexy. That's the first word to pop into my head. He has the softest blue eyes, and white blond hair that keeps falling in his eyes. He's 19 too, one of the youngest mentors ever, I'm sure. This is his first year. How wonderful. I'll win, and he can have a nice first time. I look at him, scanning his features for a moment. He shoots me a small smile. Then a glare. No...that couldn't be it.

"George Meum." Polly calls out.

In my stalker haze, Polly has called out my partner. A 15 year old boy comes into view.

_**Damn. He's older then me. But I can take him. **_

I watch as two identical boys,probably twins start elbowing their way through the of them is wearing a tux. Bigger boys then George. And Polly hasn't even called for volunteers yet!

_**Things just went from bad to near impossible. I can kill him. I will kill him. I'll come home a winner.**_

One of them gets up the stairs, gasping a little from his run, and Polly taps him on the shoulder.

"Excuse me...what are you doing up here?"

_**My point exactly! What is his problem? Ohhh...nothing I guess,since he's up here. **_

"I'm volunteering."

I watch as Polly's gaze falters. She's thinking...what is she thinking?

"We should really wait-"

"What's the point?He's just going to volunteer again." Malcolm interrupts, standing and going up there to the boy.

_**Why didn't I get that kind of attention?**_

Polly nods.

"So,what's your name?" She asks.

"Hyre Fletchi-"

"Age?"

"Eightee-"

"Got it, okay." She turns to the crowd.

"District 2, I give you your tributes. Onyx Marshal and Hyre Fletching!"

A bit of cheering follows. I don't think it's for me. I don't care. There should have been more for such a wondrous day. Oh well.

And then things get interesting.

The boys twin comes to the stage "Wait!"

Irritation crosses Polly's face. Something I had never seen before.

"What?" She asks.

"He can't go! I have to go!" the boy yells."He can't volunteer! I was going to-"

"Peacekeepers." Polly trills, and the Peacekeepers drag the boy away as he screams profanities. And for the first time today, I laugh. This makes me so happy.

I go to the Justice Building, ready to say my final goodbye to the one person who will care about me.

_**Time to find out what Mason is giving me for my token.**_

Every tribute can have one token, one memory to bring into the Arena. A parent is the ideal person to give someone their token, but in my case, it will be Mason.

He comes in and hugs me tightly.

"I made it! I MADE IT!" I squeal.

"Ok ok, calm down. You need to calm down. I know that your excited, but relax. This isn't just a dream anymore. It's reality. Treat it like it is."

"Advice please! Some words of wisdom from my trainer would be good."

"Stay in the game at all times. Focus. Don't let ANYTHING stop you from Victory."

"That boy is older then me."

"But you're a Career. Just looking at him you can see he isn't."

_**I thought he looked VERY menacing.**_

"OK. Thanks. I'll do that. I will come to you victorious."

Alright. Good girl. But I also want you to know if for some reason you are dying, and there's no hope of surviving, know that I love you, and that I am proud of you. For doing what I couldn't."

I hug him again, as tight as I possibly can.

"Mom and dad would be proud too."

He pulls out of the hug, tears sliding down his face.

"I have something for your eyes."

I close my eyes, and feel something cold around my neck. When it subsides, I open my eyes and look at it. A beautiful silver locket with a emerald center.

"It's beautiful." I say breathlessly.

"It...I was going to give it to mom. For her birthday. It would have been the day after she died. And I had bought this with my own money. But she died. And so I'm giving it to the next special girl in my life. You."

"It's perfect. I'll cherish it forever."

He kisses my forehead and walks out, possibly for the last time.

And when I think there's nobody else to come and visit, a boy walks in. Hyre's twin.

"Hey there Onyx." He says smoothly.

"Do I know you?" I ask.

"I'm Hyre's brother, Jaime, and I go to school with you."

"Oh yeah. You do look familiar."

"Let's cut to the chase. I know you want to win. So do me this one little favor. Kill him. As viciously as you can muster. As slowly as you want."

"Why?"

"What do you mean why? Your a Career aren't you? I would have thought you'd like to kill Hyre."

"Why should I kill him slowly and painfully?"

"He stole my glory. I wanted to volunteer. But he did, and so I want him dead."

"Ok...so you get something you want."

"I can give you something too. Well...take something really."

"Excuse me?"

"I think you know what I mean."

"I do. And I'm not even thinking about doing that."

"OK baby. When you come home all nice and victorious, come find me. We'll...talk."

"I'd rather slit your throat."

"And why don't you?"

"There are witnesses.I'll see when I get back. To kill your pathetic ass. And for another thing, how do you know someone won't kill me?"

"You know as well as I do. You've got training. I've seen you train."

"Creepy."

A Peacekeeper comes in and takes Jaime. He struggles and fights, but in the end, I am left alone in the room.

I maintain a straight face, take a deep breath, and get ready to board the train


	3. District Three Reapings

****A/N:**** If you're still here you've surprised us all! Yes, the Snev-ster is back in the house and presenting yet another chapter of our fabulous 24 fic! Don't worry about me running out of things to say, I don't think that could ever happen! Now you lot, we go onto the geeky district three. This chapter is written by… the flabbergasting FritzasPritz(D3 female) and the angelic Life is but a Daydream (D3 male)!

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><p><strong>Mikki105's AN**: Hey guys, it's me Mikki once again. If you have read up to this point, I just wanted to say thank you very much for supporting me in my idea and my amazing 24 authors! We might have a few openings as authors if you are interested. There is also a possiblitiy of another 24 Authors fic after this one, so stay tuned! Also, I'd like to make note of the grammar mistakes in the last chapter. I will be editing them this weekend, but I would like to ask our authors to please take note of that and thank our readers for noticing. Let us know if there is anything we can do to improve this.

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><p><strong>Mack Tully's Point of View (by Life is but a Daydream)<strong>

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><p>"Once you choose hope, anything's possible."<p>

-Christopher Reeve

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><p>"And this year's tribute is… Mack Tully!" the escort, who is all blurry, announces.<p>

"No!" I shout, my voice lost in the crowd, which is surprisingly noisy for Reaping day. "No! I can't go!"

I am pushed towards the stage by my peers, who are laughing and jeering. I stumble up the stairs, and out from behind the blurred escort steps a massive District 2 boy with an axe in his hand. I am stuck in my spot, watching in horror as he swings it towards me and-

"Mack! Mack, wake up!" Someone is shaking me. Hard. I open my eyes to see my little sister Pixel, her brown hair falling into her face, her small eyes wide.

I sit up. My heart is racing, and my whole body feels sore. The nightmare is still echoing in my thoughts. I wonder what would've happened if I hadn't woken up in time. Linus, my father, says that if you dream you die, then you die.

Shaking my heads, I push the thoughts away. I'm not going to let them make me go crazy like so many of the people around here.

I notice the dress shirt and pants draped over a wooden chair in the corner of my room, out of place in my neat room. I stare at the clothes for a minute before it finally hits me. That's Reaping wear. There's a reason why I had the horrible nightmare. Today's the day of the Reaping.

Uh-oh.

"You ok, Mack?" Pixel asks me. For a second I had forgotten she was there.

I nod, giving a tired smile. "I'm fine, Pix. Just had a bad dream, that's all."

She frowns but doesn't reply. Instead she says, "I'm going to go tell Elektra and Linus you're up."

Elektra and Linus are our mother and father. Ever since we were little, they've trained us to call them by their names instead of "Mom" and "Dad". I never could figure out why, but I suppose it's because they don't like formalities or something. They also don't like interfering with our problems. Which is how I got the scar on my arm. Pixel scratched me during one of our more violent fights. I can't remember what we were fighting over, but most likely it wasn't important.

I throw my blankets off of me and usher Pixel out of my room so I can get dressed. As I pull on my clothes, I stare at my reflection in the mirror, which never ceases to amaze me. Not because I'm good-looking, but because the reflection is so accurate (at least, I think it is). It shows a plain, brown-haired, brown-eyed boy who is tall and 16 years, 8 months, and 3 days old.

I know this because one day I decided I would figure out how old I was exactly. It took me most of my History of Panem class, but I finally did get it.

After running a hand through my no-hope hair, I open the door and head downstairs, where Linus, Elektra, and Pixel are eating a breakfast of partially-burnt toast and strawberry jam. My personal favorite.

I join them, making small talk as I nibble on my toast. I try to avoid the Reaping at all costs, because that's a sticky subject for my family. Though they'd never admit it openly, Linus and Elektra hate the Capitol. They believe it is too strict. I don't really care either way. The Games have never affected me, except for the occasional nightmare.

However, the Reaping comes up, as it always does. It was mentioned by me of all people, when I told my parents, "Today I'm going to help out Alef before the Reaping begins."

A look of shock passes over Linus's face, and Elektra sets down her piece of bread. He clears his throat and says absently, "Why, that's today, isn't it?"

I believe it is," Elektra says, brushing a piece of brown hair out of her eyes.

"Yeah," Pixel contributes, not one to be left out of a conversation. "My first year. But Mack and I aren't going to be reaped, right, Macky?"

I almost forgot Pixel has a chance of being reaped this year. However, she's young with no tesserae, so there's hope. Besides, I'm not one to focus on the negatives.

I grin and cross my fingers. "Nope, not as long as we believe we won't." At least, that's my thought. As long as you have hope, things will turn out ok. It's part of science. Quantum mechanics or something. You can partially control atoms and molecules, so if you have a negative mood, negative things will happen.

I push back my chair, wipe the jelly from my face with a napkin. "I'm gonna head to Alef's," I say. "See you guys after the Reaping."

My family says their goodbyes, and I head out the front door into the smoggy world of District 3.

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><p>"So that's why I don't believe there is such a thing as District Thirteen," I say, leaning against boxes of soap, watching as Alef unstacks boxes of canned food.<p>

He shrugs. "Whatever you say, Mack."

Alef has been my best friend since second grade. I had stapled my thumb to a piece of paper, and was screaming bloody murder until Alef calmly walked over and, despite my flying hands and kicking feet, pulled out the staple. We traded sandwiches later that day and have been inseparable ever since.

His family owns the general store in our part of District 3. I often help him out for a few spare dollars, which my family uses to buy the occasional birthday cake.

Anyways, Alef is a bit of a dreamer. Ok, he's a lot of a dreamer. He believes all these absurd stories of fairies and brownies (not the kind you eat) and District 13. We're not supposed to talk about District 13, but who pays attention to two gangly 16-year-olds?

I help him unstack the boxes, and then start opening the boxes and taking out the canned food, sorting it into piles. As I do so, the things around the cans, along with Alef, fade out of view as I work. I concentrate on the cans, not saying a word. Whenever I focus, I seem to block out the rest of the world, according to Pixel and my parents. It isn't until the last can is sorted that Alef and the world comes back into view.

My friend is staring at the clock, calculating the time. He continues staring as he says, "I think we should probably head down to the square."

I nod and stand up. Together we go out the back door and lock it. We talk about how strange the weather's been lately, and how that stray cat we named Cella keeps coming to Alef's back door, and how cool it is that Alef got new shoes - pretty much everything but the Reaping.

We reach the square, and the mayor is already announcing all the stuff he announces. Usually Alef and I just talk during this time. We slip into the 16-year-old boy's section and stand there, whispering as the mayor continues talking.

Once we are here, there is no avoiding it. The Reaping must be talked about. "Do you think we have a chance?" I ask him.

"A chance for what?" he replies, though he knows full well what I'm talking about.

"For getting picked in the Reaping."

"First off, it's Reapings, with an 's' on the end," he corrects. "Secondly, no."

I nod choosing to ignore his correction. It's Reaping, with no 's' on the end. "Neither do I. As long as we believe we won't, we won't get reaped."

"No offence, Mack," Alef says, "but I don't think your personal quote makes sense in this situation."

Wait. Did I hear that right? Did Alef - ever the dreamer - say that he doesn't believe in something?

"What are you talking about?" I say.

"Well, that's like saying that if you believe you're a rock, you're a rock. But you're not a rock," is his reply.

I frown, not wanting to understand for once in my life. Instead of saying something back to him, I decide to tune into the Reaping.

Our District Escort, Lucea Wellington, has taken the stage. She literally looks like a doll - complete with the creepy eyes - but by her cruel, permanent smile, I know she's not.

She is digging into the girl's Reaping ball, her white teeth shimmering in the sunlight. Her nails are so long - they're more like claws than anything - that she can't get a grip on a slip. When she finally does, however, it appears that her smile widens.

"Jules Surket!"

The crowd does not part. No one stirs.

Finally, the silence breaks. "Shit," a girl says. Other girls step aside to give the girl who swore room to get to the stage. The girl is shaking her head, her mouth moving, though I cannot hear anything.

The girl reaches the stage, and as she starts up, trips. She is flying in the air for a split-second, and in another split-second is caught by one of the mentors, Gage. He moves his mouth close to her ear before helping her onstage.

Lucea strolls over to Jules and grabs her neck in her large hand. She massages it, smile on her face. Jules stands there emotionless through it all.

"Now let's pick the lucky boy who gets to grace Jules here with his presence!" Lucea finally says. She breaks away from the girl and repeats the Reaping process. When she finally grasps a slip, an evil glint appears in her eyes, though that could just be my imagination.

"Mack Tully, you lucky boy!" she chirps.

My eyes go wide and the world seems to fade away. I hear something - or someone - squeak. For a moment I am back in my dream, heading to my death. And when I break out of the trance, I realize that it wasn't a dream at all. I am, in fact, heading to my death.

No, Mack, I think. I can do this. There is a chance I can come home. Though the other tributes will probably be stronger, I still have a chance.

I ascend the stage, my brave face on.

As long as I believe, I will.

Right?

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><p>"I knew that would come back to bite you," Alef says as he walks in. I'm sitting in the goodbye room, or whatever it's called, staring at the ornate paintings and furniture. I'm also still in shock from the elevator. Sure, they have those in the factories, but I had never actually ridden in one.<p>

"What would?" I reply, even though I already know.

He sits down in a leather chair across from me and says, "Your quote, the one about believing."

I roll my eyes. "You really think that?"

He nods. "Yes, I do. You jinxed yourself."

I bite my lip, wondering if that's true. But even if it is, I'm not about to let Alef have the satisfaction. "No, I didn't."

"Yeah you did."

I scowl. "Shouldn't you be sentimental? I'm going into a situation where I have a one hundred percent chance of coming home, but only a one twenty-fourth of being alive when that happens."

That shuts him up just fine. We sit in awkward silence, and I wonder where Elektra, Linus, and Pixel are. Shouldn't they be here by now, to rescue me from the inevitable fight about to happen?

Finally, Alef breaks the silence. His voice sounds hollow, empty. "You're gonna die, aren't you?"

"Of course not!" I splutter, amazed such a thing came out of my best friend's mouth.

A wild look appears in Alef's eyes. "You're gonna die," he says again. "Mack, we have to get out of here."

"We can't," I say, going off one of my rambles. "The Peacekeepers are right outside. There's no way we can escape. Plus as soon as we get outside, a hundred more Peacekeepers will attack us. And-"

His shaking head stops me. Tears are in his eyes. "No, I mean, we can escape. Climb over the wall or dig under or something. Then we'll go to District Thirteen and we-''

"Alef, no," I say firmly. I stand up, hug my best friend. "I'll miss you, ok? But there's no need to run. I'll be back home in a matter of weeks. Alive. I promise."

Again he shakes his head. "No, you won't. You can't leave."

"Listen to me." I grab him by the shoulders. "I will make it back. I will."

Finally it seems to register. Alef nods, wipes the tears from his eyes. "See you around, Mack," he says, heading towards the door. He opens it and pauses for a moment before saying, "Come back home, ok?"

"Ok," I reply, but he's already out the door.

My family comes in directly after, each spewing out everything they've been holding in their whole lives. I accept their good wishes and provide comfort when they sob, but I'm still numb from my encounter with Alef.

My best friend has no hope for me.

So why do I?

Because, a small voice whispers in my head, it's scientifically proven a person can last eight days without food, three days without water, three minutes without oxygen, but not a minute without hope.

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><p><strong> Jules Surket's Point of View (by Fritz as Pritz)<strong>

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><p>The test of a first-rate intelligence is the ability to hold two opposed ideas in mind at the same time and still retain the ability to function. ~F. Scott Fitzgerald<p>

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><p>I sleep in. I hate sleeping in because then the morning goes to waste and wasting hours in the day is tantamount to throwing money over the electric fence. But this particular day is one I feel the need to sleep in because it is the reapings. I know that I will need energy for when the parties erupt tonight because we will finally be free from the Hunger Games.<p>

I roll off of my bed and plop onto the floor with a grunt. I reach for the little notepad just underneath my bed and drag it to me. Flipping open to the first page, I see all of the scribbled out names and chores that I have done over the past week. I'm behind because my brother electrocuted himself on Monday and I had to take him to the hospital. It also cost me most of the scratched out names. I flip to the page where I left off and glare at the next name.

Betta Ahxen. He owns the house right next to the fence so that he has room for his greenhouse. He makes honey normally but since prices have gone up, he found himself making his own food. He's a crab and no one really likes him. But he's old and he doesn't know up from down these days. I find myself going to his house every other week, if not more so.

I pull myself up and glance outside. With the sun at its peak, I figure that I won't have enough time to do anything more than doing whatever Betta wants me to do. I go to my dresser and pull out a dress to wear for the reaping that way I don't have to run all the back home and risk being late.

My home is quiet as I walk through and I realize that I must have slept in longer than I thought. I see a small bread roll on the counter and stuff it in my mouth as I walk to Betta's home.

His house is remote and nearly abandoned in the back of the district. The framework alone is an eyesore and I always feel like it will collapse on top of me whenever I go inside. There is an unpleasant odor that lingers on me whenever I leave and I swear he has a grave somewhere in that house. Yet, it is the only place where I don't feel the Capitol breathing down my neck. It is a good place to go on the day of the reapings.

He opens the door before I even get to the front porch and gives me a demeaning glare that makes me squirm a little. His meaty hand grabs onto my skinny arm and pulls me inside his home.

"It's about time you come," he says gruffly. "I've been trying to get this damn steamer for days."

"I was busy," I tell him.

"And I needed my steamer!" I decide not to say anything else as he shoves me toward his broken smoker. I pick it up and examine the silver device.

"What's it for anyway?" I ask briefly. I can already see the problem around the back where there is a build-up of a black substance. I grab what I hope is a butter knife and try to scrape it off.

"To put the bees to sleep. Gets me my honey." I nod a little and work on getting all of the black gunk off. I look up briefly and notice a gold bug in a jar.

"Is that a tracker jacker?" I breathe out as I take a step toward it. I place the smoker to the side and pick up the jar. The bug does not move and it is clear that it is dead.

"Sure is. I found one stupid enough to fly into the fence. It took me forever to get it, but I know the damn buggers inside and out now." I am tempted to open it and fully examine the creature, but the stories of all of the hallucinations and problems the tracker jacker brings stops me. Still, the insect is an interesting thing to look at. I have never seen a shade of gold that bright before.

"It's harmless," Betta says. "I took the venom out years ago." My head flies to where he stands by his beaten up chair.

"You took the venom out?" He shrugs and walks toward me to take the jar. Once in his hands, he shakes it with a smirk on his face and places it back on his shelf.

"Sure did, now fix my steamer so I can kick you out." I pick up the silver device, but I don't work on it again. Instead I turn toward him the question spurting from my lips.

"How did you get it?"

He rolls his eyes and pulls a small vial out of his pocket. He hands it to me cautiously. "I used one of them doctor needles. It took me long enough. The whole room was smokey by the time it finally fell asleep and after that it took hours of testing and making sure I found the venom sac. It paid off in the end." He point to the poison in my hand. "I'm saving that for a special occasion."

"What kind of occasion? Suicide?" I murmur under my breath. He scoffs at me and snatches the vial to drop it back in his pocket.

"Just fix the damn steamer already." I finish scraping the black substance off and I place it down. I glance around at the bare walls of his home and several thoughts flash through my head. By the time Betta tells me to leave, I want to ask him if he knew the cost of a peppermint stick.

I leave his home thinking about the tracker jacker. I have never seen one up close, only in the text books or through Crazy Jack's stories of the Dark Days. He often calls them the devil's advocates and says that they are the reason he lost his right arm.

My best friend Kane walks out of his home around the same time that I walk by. He waves me down and I wait for him as he comes to my side in his best shirt and pants, the clothes he only wears for the reaping day.

"You going like that?" he says with a raised eyebrow. I glance down at the pale yellow dress that my mother sown for me. It is supposed to be for when it gets hot but I figured it would be fine to wear for my final reapings.

Ignoring his question, I point to his outfit and tell him, "What are you going to wear that to after today?"

He shrugs. "My wedding probably."

"What girl would want to marry you?" I joke. He shoves me away and I nearly trip on a rock. I glare at him as he bursts into a fit of laughter.

"Ass," I mumble. "You know I'm a klutz."

"Everyone knows that," he rolls his eyes.

"Ass," I say again. He lets a small chuckle loose and holds his hand out to me.

"You're the one who said I would die alone."

I open my mouth to respond, but then we begin to join with the crowded District Three square and our small quarrel seems lost on me. Today two families will be going home with a helpless feeling and even more will be grateful for the same reason the other two feel helpless. I know my family did when my brother came home free after turning nineteen and my parents will feel the same when we go home today. The odds of my name being chosen is slim, but so was Parker's last year and he was chosen. I decide not to keep myself deluded. I have just as much of chance of being chosen as anyone else.

"See you on the other side," Kane whispers in my ear as he nods toward where the others are lining up. I smile weakly at him and watch as he joins our friends in the eighteen-year-old section. This isn't the first time I curse myself for not having any girl friends and I doubt it will be the last.

I stand alone among the crowd and I search for my family along the closed off area. I know that my brother, Qulome, and his girlfriend Rochelle would be close to the stage. He told me yesterday that he wants to give me a hug when my name isn't called. My parents are probably somewhere in the back because my mother likes to be the first one to leave. She claims it is because she doesn't like crowds (which is true), but I know it has something to do with the many miscarriages she had before I was born. I think she imagines all the children she has lost whenever she sees the other children being reaped. At least that is what I think. No one will ever tell me if my hypothesis is correct.

I only listen partially through the reapings. It is all something I have heard before and don't care much for. I want this to be over with so I can go home and relax for once. For once in my life, I will not have to worry about being chosen for the Games.

After a few minutes (or maybe it was a few hours?), out escort goes to the microphone and my attention goes to her.

The District Three escort is a woman by the name Lucea Wellington. She looks like any other Capitol citizen with her fake plastic face and over groomed hair. She has a false smile glued to her face, literally, and the ends of both her eyebrows curl upward. She looks like a doll actually.

To distract myself from her false appearance, I find my eyes going to the mentor Cabel Kyl who taps his hand against his pants at an unreasonably high pace. No one ever sees him outside of his home, except at the Games or Reapings. The same cannot be said for the man who sits next to him Gage Brackett who has never held back his tongue a day in his life.

"Jules Surket!"

I blink and look around for who called my name. The girls around me take a step away and I can see them whispering. What happened? Did they put something on me? Then I look forward and the scary doll Lucea Wellington is looking at me. She called me? That means…

"Shit!" I say without even realizing. I hear a snicker somewhere, but I am too confused to try and see who it was. My name was called. This wasn't supposed to happen. I was supposed to go home and assure my mom that it was okay and give my brother a hug.

My legs move me forward, even though I don't tell them too. My lips move softly as I mumble out curses and profanities as they cross my mind. I was reaped into the bloody Hunger Games. Another cuss word falls from my mouth.

Just before I reach the top of the stage, I stumble on the last step and Gage catches me before I fall. "That won't do you any damn good in the Games," he tells me. A few more curses leave my lips after that.

I do not look into the crowd as I reach the top of the stage. I don't want to see my family's or friends' eyes as they look up at me from the stage. I let my mind drift a little so that my face remains impassive. I can't let the cameras see how confused I am. The other tributes will see. They will know and they will use it against me. I have to remain a few steps ahead. My brain is the only weapon the District Three tributes seem to have and it is what I need now.

The curses leave me and it is replaced with something else: ideas. I begin to think through all of the ways I can win, how I can create something within the Games, leave my mark there if anything else. I plan through the possible kinks and downfalls so quickly, I hardly notice when the male tribute is called.

His name is Mack Tully. I know him as the chatterbox since it is a rarity to see him tacit in any given situation. That is unless he is concentrating. He works with Alef's family at the general store and I remember seeing him from time to time when I go to fix something. I don't know him very well and I'm glad for it. It is better for me in the long run.

When our mayor stops reading one of the many dull readings, I face Mack. We shake hands quietly and I almost mutter a joke to get him to start talking. Almost. We turn back to the crowd and our fates are sealed.

My mind is still focusing on the traps as we are led away. I begin to wonder what kind of power it would take to get electricity running through an entire arena or what kind of rope I could use to camouflage it enough for someone not to see it. I try to perfect it in my mind, which I know is a silly thing to do since I don't even know who I am up against.

They place me in a room so that I can say good bye to my family, which is something I do not want to do. I need to remain deadpan, like I always am, but that isn't an easy thing to do if you've been crying.

My brother comes in first, by himself. He gives me a tight hug and doesn't say anything, but also doesn't let me go. We remain in a tight embrace until he is told he has to leave and he whispers in my ear, "Beat the shit out of them." I laugh a little as he kisses me on the top of my head and walks out.

My parents take his place and it is a lot harder to keep myself composed with my mother blubbering all over me. My father puts a strong hand on my shoulder and doesn't say anything as my mother tries to tell me words through her uncontrollable sobbing. I keep my emotions as far as possible, but let them surface long enough to envelop my mother in my arms and tell her how much I loved her. She shuffles out of there and my father follows her. Though before he leaves, he turns around and gives me a sad smile.

I take several deep breaths before my friends come in. Kane, Emben, and Jay come in and they keep me happy with jokes and teasing about how I almost fell on stage. They don't mention the Games or that I was reaped and I am glad. I want my last memory of my goofy friends to be this, not a melancholy one. By the end however, they each wish me luck and give me a tight hug. I think this makes me want to cry more than when my mother was here. Kane looks at me up and down and says, "Don't you wish you wore a better dress now?" I laugh ruefully and shrug.

When they leave, I figure I have no more visitors, but I am surprised when Betta walks into the room with a silver chain flowing out of his hand. He looks at me with the judging stare he always gives me, and it is just as comforting as my friends' jests. "Hey," he says. I nod a greeting in return. He goes to the empty chair and sits down. "The steamer works. I was going ta give you your payment later but since this happened, I figured, now is probably the best time."

When I raise my eyebrow at him, he opens the palm with the chain flowing out of it. In his hand is the gold tracker jacker that was in the jar. He placed what looks like a collar around its neck so that it could hang from the chain. My mouth hangs. He is giving me what he claims is his prized possession. I wonder if he expects it to come back to him once I die.

"They're not going to approve this," I mumble to myself. He shrugs and hands it to me. I admire the color as it lies in my palm.

"There's nothing dangerous about it," he replies with a shrug. I manage to smile a little at the bug.

"You think the tracker jackers in the arena will sting me if they see I have their long lost cousin around my neck?"

I tear my eyes away from my new prize to look at Betta. He has a wide grin on his face, but it slowly disappears. "They aren't that smart," he assures me.

I stare at the bug in my hand. He is telling me something. I know he is. He wouldn't have given it to me otherwise. Why would he? I scrapped gunk off of his steamer. That is not worth his prized tracker jacker. I think of our conversation and the vial. The vial or rather the venom. "Where was the venom sac?"

The smile on his face reminds me of my brother when he has deciphered a puzzle. He points his bony little finger at a little mark on the stomach. "Right there." I nod and the ideas are already flowing through my mind as I try to pin together the proper materials needed for my plan. Tracker jackers are the real key. If I find even one nest then I can win this.

"I can win this," I repeat to myself. Betta smiles and nods. Standing to his feet, he gives me a small grunt and walks out. It is his way of saying good luck, I guess.

I try to keep myself together as I am led out of the Justice Building. A Peacekeeper puts me in a car that takes Mack and me to the train station on the other side of the district. I look out the window, trying to remember every bit of it before I leave. I swallow down the tears that threaten to fall and cling to the gold bug still in my palm.

When we reach the train station, I make sure to keep my head high and to take small steps so I don't trip. Mack follows behind me and our mentors behind him. We walk in a single file through the cameras and the news crew. I can't help thinking that we are walking to our execution. Which we are.

I look back at the district before the doors shut. As we rush away from our home, all I am aware of is the tracker jacker in my palm. I can win this.


	4. District Four Reapings

**A/N: **District four- the home of the sea, swimming and of course, _Finnick!_ Who doesn't like him? I mean, seriously, once I put up a poll on my profile asking whether people liked Finnick or not and I only had _one_person say they didn't out of twenty! Who? Me? Guilty as charged there. But anyway, this time I present you the district four reaping by… the glamorous booksandmusic97 (D4 female) and the… well… "interesting" PearyPants44 (D4 male)!

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><p><strong>Moss Dorian's point of view (by PearyPants44)<strong>

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><p><em>"You only live once, but if you do it right, once is enough." ~ Mae West<em>

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><p>"No, salmon."<p>

"But I thought that one was a salmon."

"That one's a bass."

"Oh… but I thought… never mind."

I manage a nervous laugh at my little brother. Maris is a smart kid, but when it comes to fishing, he's a total idiot. We've been sitting on the edge of a small cliff overlooking the ocean for a few hours. Every time I catch a fish I ask him to tell me what kind it is. Salmon is always his first guess.

It's about 11 in the morning right now. Today is Reaping Day and that means we have to be in the town square by 2. We don't have to spend time getting ready though. We've been saving all year for Reaping outfits. There was enough money for two cheap-looking shirts, but I used my money to buy Maris his own set of clothes. Combined, we were able to afford some nice black dress pants, a black button-up shirt, and a dark blue tie.

Around noon, I tell Maris we have to leave. He whines a bit, but I remind him that we only have two hours. I send him off to the house to get ready while I drop of my basket of fish at the market.

The streets are lifeless today in District 4. Everyone is either getting ready for the Reaping or already at the square. I pick up my pace, breaking into a jog to get to the market faster.

Tony, the main fish dealer at the market, only gives me a small bag of money for all my fish. This is barely enough to buy a loaf of bread. I sigh, shoot him a dirty look, and jog back to my house.

I step inside and as if on cue, the lights flicker out. I glare at my father who's sitting on the sofa in the corner of the room.

He shrugs and says, "It was either food or electricity. Which would you rather have?"

I take a seat next to him and say, "Why weren't you fishing today?"

"I was thinking about… you know."

"Right," I should mention, my mother ditched us when I was younger. She said my dad didn't make enough money… so she left. Now she's one of the richest people in the district working as a doctor. At anytime, Maris and I could leave my dad and live the best life ever, but I refuse. My mom's a jerk, and while my dad gets depressed over her a lot, he's a good guy. But one of these days he needs to get over it and start working again. He's got three mouths to feed.

I get off the couch and look at the clock. 1:15. Crap.

I maneuver through our small living room and dart up the stairs. I pass Maris on the way who seems to be having troubles with his tie.

I go into my bathroom and take off my clothes. I turn the knob on our bathtub to start the water, but nothing happens.

"Water's out too!" my dad calls from downstairs.

"Great," I mutter. I slip back into my dirty white T-shirt and tattered jeans. After I sit down to retie my old sneakers, I stand and take a look in the mirror. I'm a mess.

My shaggy brown hair falls all over my head, completely blocking out my sea-green eyes. My face has dirt and grime in little patches everywhere. My normally pale skin looks dark due to the lack of light in my house.

I groan at my appearance, but I guess there's nothing I can do. I run back down the stairs. Maris is still in the living room, complaining that he can't tie his tie. I give my dad a dirty look. He couldn't even help his son with his tie?

"Really?" I say.

"Hey," he says, raising his hands in defense. "It's been nearly 20 years since I've worn a tie."

I sit Maris down on the couch and attempt to tie it for him. It looks like crap, but it's good enough. "We've gotta go," I say to him. I herd him out the door and look back at my father before leaving. "Will you at least show up to the Reaping on time?"

"I might"

I shake my head and close the door. Maris and I jog down the street towards the square.

On the way, we pass the training center. My dad still doesn't know. Neither does Maris, but I've secretly been training. Yeah, to enter the Games. They don't want me to, but if I win, imagine all the money I can bring back. We wouldn't be poor anymore! We'd be richer than even my mom.

I still don't know if I'm going to volunteer. I mean, it's an option. But I might not be able to bring myself to do it.

We arrive at the square just as the mayor is in the middle of his speech about the Rebellion and the history of the Games and all that crap.

I send Maris off to the 13-year-olds section. I make my way over to the 17's.

I find my best friend, Brock, and he forces a smile.

"Hey," he whispers. I nod. "Can you believe this guy?"

"Nope."

Brock and I hate the Games. While I'm at it, we hate the Capitol too. And quite frankly, we hate the Career districts. Even District 4. They're nothing but a bunch of bloodthirsty idiots who enjoy slicing people's heads open.

I've never had anyone close lost to the Games, but I think Brock's brother was a tribute. If I've heard right, he made it to the top 3 and then died of starvation.

The mayor introduces this year's mentor, Alex Zervakos.

"And may we congratulate him on his recent marriage?" says the mayor with a smile. A roar of approval echoes from the crowd. I guess he's a well-liked person.

The mayor finally shuts up and gives the microphone to our escort, Eli Montgomery. Eli looks across the audience and says, "Yeah, so, um… Reaping, right? Fun…"

We all stare at him blankly. Is this his way of getting us to perk up?

He sighs and says, "Right. Let's just get on with it, shall we? Ladies first."

Eli plods over to the giant glass ball that holds thousands of teenage girls' names. He pulls it out and clears his throat. "Is there a, uh… Elia Zervakos in the crowd?"

A series of shrieks come from the crowd, including from Alex Zervakos. I didn't know Alex had a sister.

As the girl emerges from the 18 section, I see her face for a second. I think I recognize her… Yeah, definitely familiar. I think we've run into each other at the training center a few times.

Soon, I see why the audience is so upset. She's wearing a wedding ring. She must be Alex's wife. That sucks.

Brock seems about as bothered by this as me, and that means he doesn't care. He leans over to me and says, "Are you gonna do it?"

I look at him and say, "I don't know. Should I"

He pauses. Obviously he doesn't want me volunteering, but he says, "You could do it. You'd win. You're determined."

I nod. That still doesn't convince me.

Our small side-conversation seems to have distracted me from the action on stage. A small girl tried to volunteer for Elia, but she shot her down. Elia tries to look strong as she takes the stage instead of the little girl, but I can tell from her constant glances to Alex that she's scared.

Eli pulls a name out of the boys' ball. "Tanim Darya?" he says.

"So?" Brock asks me. I don't know what to say. What am I going to do?

A young boy, about Maris' age, starts to walk to the stage with tears in his eyes. Am I going to volunteer?

"Dude!" Brock says. "If you're gonna do it, now's your chance!"

I look around at the Careers. They're all ready to go as soon as Eli asks for volunteers. None of them need this as badly as I do. I have to do this…

"I volunteer!" I scream, earning me several looks of hate from the other boys. I ignore them and jog towards the stage.

As I pass Tanim, he looks at me with gratitude as if to say, 'Thank you.'

I take the stage and stand next to Elia. Eli glares at me and says, "You know, there's a certain time to volunteer…"

"Oh shut up," I say quietly. I rip the mic out of his hand and say, "Hi District 4! I'm Moss Dorian, and I'm your new tribute!"

No one really cheers, probably because of the way I volunteered, but I don't really care. Who needs the approval of these nasty Careers?

Eli gives the closing speech and instructs Elia and I to shake hands. This is when I get my first real look at the girl. And let me just tell you, I'm really bummed that she's married.

She has pale skin, sort of like mine, but it's a lot more attractive on her. Her red hair falls nicely over her shoulders. Unlike mine, her green eyes are the center of attention. I'm distracted for a moment and she has to grab my hand for me.

I come back to reality and shake her hand. She smiles and I think I almost faint.

Elia and I are rushed to the Justice Building where we'll be saying our goodbyes. I'm ushered into a nicely furnished room with blood-red carpets and walls. I take a seat on the sofa and wait for my first visitor, Brock.

"Good job," he says. "I'm proud of you."

"Thanks," I say. I don't know what else to do.

"I will," he says. I tilt my head at him. What on earth is he talking about? He rolls his eyes and says, "I'll take care of Maris, idiot."

Oh. Duh.

I nod again. "Th-thanks."

We don't really talk, but his visit means a lot to me. Soon, he's gone out the door.

My next visitor's eyes are still puffy from crying.

"Maris, cheer up!" I say, trying to lighten the mood.

"I can't!" he shouts. He starts bawling and it takes forever to calm him down.

"Listen," I say. "I'm gonna win. Then when I come back, we'll have a ton of money and we can live in a big house."

He stares at me and punches my arm. "You better."

"I will."

A peacekeeper tells him it's time to go and I hug him goodbye. "Study up on your fish, okay?"

He laughs which makes me smile.

My last visitor is my dad. Wow, he actually got off his butt to come over here.

"Hey kid," he says, offering a smile. I force one back. He looks at me and says, "Why'd you do it?"

I shrug and say, "We could use the money right now…"

"Yeah I know that," he says sarcastically. "What I meant was, do you really think you'll stand a chance?"

"I'm good with a sword."

"How do you know?"

I forgot to mention my training.

"Oh, uh. Well, I've been… I've sort of been training."

He looks at me quizzically, but he's not mad. I guess he figures that I'll need the training.

"Alright," he says. He opens his hand and drops a black chain necklace into my palm. "Your token."

I put it on and say, "What is it?"

He fidgets and says, "It's, uh, just an old thing. I used to wear it all the time. I thought you might want it."

I get the feeling that there's more to the story than that, but I don't have the time to ask. He has to leave.

After a few minutes, a peacekeeper comes in and escorts me to the train station. On the way, we run into Elia and her own escort. I smile and wave a little. She smiles back, but turns her head forward.

She steps onto the train first. I take a few moments to take in my surroundings. I say a silent goodbye to District 4. I've gotta say, I'm going to miss swimming and fishing all the time. It was sort of fun.

Oh well. Chances are, there will be a lake in the arena. With a final look at the ocean, I step on to the train.

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><p><strong>Elia Zervakos (by booksandmusic97)<strong>

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><p><em>I know God will not give me anything I can't handle. I just wish that He didn't trust me so much.<em>

_~Mother Teresa_

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><p>I swear as the tip of the sword speeds toward my stomach and duck away just in time like I usually do. The girl wielding the sword swears even louder than I did, but otherwise, isn't discouraged. She crouches down and tries to get me while I'm ducked down, but I roll out of the way and throw a small knife at her. I miss on purpose, and it flies directly above her head and lodges itself into the wall, quivering ominously in place.<p>

"Dammit!" shouts the younger girl, throwing her sword down on the training mat. "I'll never be good enough for the Hunger Games!"

"Marit, we don't train in hopes of _being _tributes-" I reprimand before I'm cut off.

"-yeah, yeah, yeah. We train in _case _we're tributes." She slumps down onto a bench on the sidelines.

The man that has been sitting in the corner observing us steps forward. "Marit," he says softly to my twelve year old sister. "Why don't you go take a water break and your sister and I will demonstrate for you?"

Marit's eyes brighten up like a kid on their birthday. "Okay Alex!"

I smile at the twenty-one year old victor, three years my senior and say, "You know she's not going to get better in a day, right?"

Alex grins and wraps his arm around my waist. "I know Elia, but just look at her sad wittle face."

I play with his wedding ring and tell him the same thing I've been telling him for months, "You'd make a great father someday. You're great with kids."

"_Well,_" he teases, "If you'd hurry up get pregnant..."

"It's certainly not from lack of trying," I say, leaning my head into his chest.

"I know, love." Alex pats my stomach and kisses my forehead. "Someday."

"I don't understand how a teddy bear like you could have won the Hunger Games," I tease, kissing his cheek.

He opens his mouth to say something, but is interrupted by the reappearance of my sister.

"I'm back!" Marit chirps cheerily.

I pick up the sword Marit dropped and toss it to the victor before picking up my own.

"On the count of three?" He asks, catching the sword in his left hand.

I nod quickly and he turns his back to me as he tries to put a few more feet's distance between us.

"Three!" I exclaim, charging at him.

This trick is not new to him, and he handles it skillfully. He holds his sword in a defensive position, causing mine to collide with his. We continue like this for a while, until we are pushing with equal force, deadlocked. Alex pushes up on his sword with a little more strength than me, making me stumble backwards a few feet. As I try to regain my balance, he hurries toward me and proceeds to knock my sword from my hand. Always one to fight fair, he tosses his sword aside and gives me a chance to stand up before grabbing a throwing knife from behind. I grab one too and throw it at him before he can even get his into a throwing position. He throws his at me and I dodge it- but that's what he wanted. The knife was a distraction. I dodged the knife by moving to the left, and while my eyes are glued to the knife, he tackles me from my right and pins me to the ground.

Out of breath, he just lies there on top of me, his blue eyes staring into my green ones. The heat rushes to my face and I see him blush, making me waggle my eyes at him.

His lips part slowly as he says tenderly, "You were kicking my ass for a while there, Elle."

I giggle like a schoolgirl and run my hands up and down his back while I talk to him. "But you liked it, right babe?"

"Sure, sure," Alex says, pressing his lips to mine.

I smile at him while he tangles one of his hands in my hair and say, "This kind of reminds me of last n-"

His fingers slowly sliding under the bottom of my shirt shut me up pretty quickly.

Someone from behind us makes gagging noises, and we break the kiss to find Alex's thirteen year old sister standing next to Marit.

Lucy rolls her eyes and says, "Alex, before you and your wife have sex on the training room floor, you should know the reaping is in like…fifteen minutes."

Alex sighs and hops onto his feet, offering his hand to me. I jump up and kiss my husband of four months before signaling Marit to follow us to the town square.

The walk is surprisingly quiet until we get to the crowd, when Alex abruptly stops walking and turns to me. "Elia, this is it! This is your last reaping! After this, you're safe!"

"If I'm not reaped."

Alex shakes his head with a blithe smile on his face and runs his fingers through my curly red hair. "Babe, this is District 4. Someone will volunteer."

"Nobody did for you." I point out. Alex swallows and moves his hand from my hair.

"You should probably go to the 18's section now," he says coolly.

Before I turn around, I wrap my arms around my husband. "Do you _really _have to mentor this year?"

"I'm sorry love, but I do."

"Aw," I whine. "The Games take like, months! I'll miss you too much."

"Look at it this way," he grins. "When the Games are over, we can get back to working on that family, hm?"

I grin and agree. "I guess I can wait for that."

"You guys are so gross!" Lucy exclaims, making a face.

"Says the queen of that's what she said jokes," Alex mumbles.

_I have the best husband in the history of husbands. Period._

He winks before turning around to take his place at the stage.

Mayor Carpen stands behind the microphone and greets the crowd. Like every year, he reads the treaty of treason before unskillfully segueing into introducing our escort, Eli Montgomery, and this year's mentor, Alex Zervakos.

"And may we congratulate him on his recent marriage?" says the mayor with a smile. A roar of approval echoes from the crowd. Alex has always been well liked. Handsome, kind, always helpful.

Mayor Carpen stops talking and hands Eli the microphone. I don't even pay attention as he walks across the stage to the glass ball full of girls' names.

"…Elia Zervakos in the crowd?"

Several people scream in disapproval- mostly my family- but Alex's facial expression is what kills me. I stand there, frozen in place as I process everything and hope there's a volunteer. And there is.

From the 12's section, a tiny voice belonging to Marit Pandy rings out, "I volunteer!"

"Marit!" I shout. "Don't listen to her, she's lying!" I race to the stage to get there before my little sister can, which as one can imagine, is difficult when I'm at the back and Marit is at the front. I'm sure I punched a guy from class in the face, but I don't care.

Marit and I are right beside each other at the stage, but I stick out my leg like I'm going to trip here and pull it back when she hastens to stop moving. Out of breath, I take my place on the stage.

There are no other volunteers.

I do not hear the name of the boy that's been reaped, but I do hear a seventeen year old volunteer and run to the stage. He introduces himself as Moss Dorian, "your new tribute!" It's all I can do the not burst out in hysterical laughter when I catch him staring at me. I have to grab his hand to shake it. I smile at him, and the expression on his face is priceless.

Moss and I are ushered into the Justice Building for saying our goodbyes. The rooms are nice, newly furnished. I take a seat and for my first visitors- my twin siblings Attics and Dinah, my brother Carlo, and Marit. Those are only half of my eight siblings.

Marit runs into the room angrily and punches me in the gut. "Why didn't you let me volunteer? I was trying to save you so you could happily ever after! Like Cinderella!"

"Marit!" Atticus and Dinah scold, holding her back. Atticus lifts her into his arms and passes her to Dinah. "Ellie," Atticus says softly, crouching down in front of me.

"You can at least pretend to have faith in me."

Atticus shakes his head and lets out a booming laugh. "Pretend? I don't need to. Anyone who's seen you in training can't deny you're capable of winning."

"Then why-"

He grabs my hands and pats them gently. "Sis, listen. Listen to Alex. Whatever he tells you to do, do it. He's not this year's mentor for nothing. He's really smart and pretty damn wise for a twenty-one year old."

"It sounds like you'd like to married to him instead of me," I tease.

Atticus makes a face. "Dude, not cool! We have a bromance. Not a romance."

I really do owe meeting my husband to my brother. We grew up next door to each other, and Alex and Atticus have been best friends since any of us can remember.

Peacekeepers come in the room to escort my siblings out. Dinah kisses my check and fourteen year old Carlo gives me a bear hug before being escorted

out.

"Hey Marit!" I call after her.

"Yeah?" She asks.

"Volunteering was a nice gesture, really. I just couldn't let you do it, you know?"

Marit nods sadly, her red curls bouncing wildly. "Good luck," she whispers as she walks out.

I'm shocked to see Leo and Isobel arrive next. Leo and Isobel are my in-laws, and while they've always been kind to me, I wasn't expecting to see them before my own parents- much less at all. Isobel and Leo Trevada are in their late forties, and Leo is actually Alex and Lucy's stepfather. Their real father died in a fishing accident before Lucy was even born. Leo was Isobel's childhood friend, and they married shortly before Lucy was born, and they gave her his name instead of "Zervakos." Nonetheless, I've always heard my husband call him his father.

"Are my parents here as well?" I ask Isobel after an awkward silence.

She nods, and then shakes her head. "They were, but your mother had an emotional breakdown in the staircase. Your father tried to console her, but the poor woman is inconsolable. When I walked by her, she told me to give you this." Isobel reaches into her pocket and pulls out a seashell with a hole

in it dangling from a silver chain.

"Vanna said you would recognize it?" Leo inquires.

I do recognize it. When I was five, my parents took my siblings and me on a deep sea fishing trip. The fish close to shore hadn't been biting recently, and with five children and one on the way, we were hard-pressed for food. After a few hours of no luck, we returned to shore. When my father docked his boat in one of the marinas, my three older siblings and I dove off of the gunwhale and into the warm, salty water. We raced to shore, and not surprisingly, I came in last after Jonas and the twins. We've had several incidents where we had no luck catching fish before, so we did what we always did. Dug for shellfish. I was the first to find a large amount of oysters and clams in a tide pool. By District 4 law, all shells must be recycled back to the sea. But I was a prideful child and didn't want my discovery to go unremembered, so I snuck a shell and had Jonas make a hole in it, and somehow, my father had mustered up enough money to buy me a silver chain to put it on. I gave the necklace as a gift to my mother for her birthday, and she's worn it ever since.

I feel a gentle hand on my shoulder. "Elia, dear?" Isobel says, wiping the tears from my eyes.

I sniffle and chuckle lamely, "I didn't even know I was crying. I'm sorry."

"It's only natural to be afraid, to be scared…but you'll be okay." Isobel promises.

"How do you know, Isobel? You never had to worry about being in the Games. You were my age before the Dark Days," I question.

"Because three years ago, there was an eighteen year old boy sitting where you're sitting now having the exact same thoughts. You know what happened, don't you?" Isobel asks rhetorically.

I just smile in response.

She grins as the Peacekeepers come in. "You can do it Elia. I'll tell your mother you said you'll see her when you get home."

"Thanks, Isobel!" I call to her just before the doors close. I put the silver chain around my neck and slowly run my finger along the old seashell.

"I can win this. I will win this," I say to myself, just as the Peacekeepers come to escort me out.


	5. District Five Reapings

****A/N: ****Now we've moved away from the careers and are going on a more emotional journey through the tribute which have less chance or survival in the same district as Foxface. It isn't going to stop us writing our best though, is it? ;) These reapings have been done by… the brilliant Lexi Blaze (D5 female) and the writer-of-impossible-formatting-chapters (and I guess I'll put heroic as well) Pumpkin Grin (D5 male)!

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><p><strong>Claus Hendall (by Pumkin Grin)<strong>

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><p><em>"I had become, with the approach of night, once more aware of loneliness and time - those two companions without whom no journey can yield us anything." - Lawrence Durrell.<em>

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><p>Morning.<p>

A stray ray of sun peeks in through my window, focusing on the right side of my face. My hand unconsciously tries to swat it away, but feels nothing. Realizing that simply waving my hand at the sun wasn't going to make it leave, I open my eyes.

The sun hits me full force as I shift into a sitting position, causing me to blink blearily in response. For eight 'o clock in the morning, the sun was unusually bright. I frown, trying to leave my bed but failing due to my ankle being tangled within the sheets. Once I had that sorted out, I finally manage to tumble off of my mattress. I curse under my breath as I almost make impact with the floor, but I quickly regain my balance.

I stand there, in the middle of my room. I face the window silently as I scratch at a cowlick in my untidy hair. I have felt the need to have my hands constantly moving lately; the habit started a few weeks ago, evolving from twiddling my thumbs to circling and wringing my wrists. I had to do something to provide some sort of distraction from things yet to come.

Which, in this case, would be the Reaping. And after that, if I was picked, the Hunger Games.

The stone in my gut hasn't dissolved yet; in fact, my belly feels even more bloated with despair. Who can blame me? I have a good chance of being picked, thanks to my age of seventeen years, which equates to my name being in the roster six times. But at least I hadn't applied for tesserae. That would've added my name even more to the roster, therefore increasing my chances of being picked. Even with just six names, however, I still felt miserable.

I hated the Hunger Games. I always had. I never understood the perverse glee and sick enjoyment people derived from it. They laughed and cheered as kids younger than me were forced to kill each other for others' enjoyment. My parents hate it too, I think. I wonder if they ever imagine seeing me on those TV screens, killing other kids. I wonder if they imagine me being killed live as well while they could only stand and watch. Again, I only wonder about these things; I don't really talk to them much, and vice versa.

I begin to make my bed silently. It might be the last time I see it again, after all. Then another part of me insists that I _will_ come back to this bed, that I will _not_ be reaped. I reprimand myself for being so bipolar; _make up your mind already!_

This is what the Hunger Games did to you; just the slight tension of being capable of being reaped was enough to make you go crazy.

Once I'm sure my bed is made, I retrieve my Reaping outfit from my closet. It has been ironed compulsively for a week, thanks to yours truly. I slip out of my sleepwear and tug on the light blue button up shirt and the black slacks. I appreciated it for not its purpose (to look your best for when you're getting reaped) but for its practicality. I always liked simple and sensible clothing. Though today, my attitude towards the outfit shifts from this and wary. It reminds me of what is coming near.

I run my fingers through my straw-colored hair before resorting to a comb to tame the cowlicks and knots. I give my face a quick onceover before I duck into the bathroom to wash my face. Again, I begin to chastise myself for wanting to look presentable for what could be my impending doom. "Shut up," I murmur to myself. The voices that constantly worry about my fate instead choose to speak louder. Shaking my head wearily, I pat my face with a towel before heading downstairs.

"Good morning," I greet my parents. They look up at me and give a curt nod before returning to their tasks – reading the newspaper and washing the dishes, respective to my father and mother. I frown for a brief moment before taking a seat across from Dad.

Dad glances up at me. "You look nice today, Claus." He says.

I nod, looking downwards as I poke at my already-prepared plate of eggs and bacon. "Thank you," I reply. Dad nods in response.

The sound of running water disappears, replaced by the clanking of dishes upon one another. Mom places her gloves at the rim of the sink basin before occupying the seat to my right. "So, Claus," she begins as she prepares her own plate of breakfast. "I take it that you've ran your daily mile earlier this morning?"

I pause, my spoon full of eggs suspended just below my mouth. I close my lips for a moment before speaking. "Not today, no," I murmur. It was true; I wasn't up to my daily running exercise today. You can guess why. "I didn't feel like it."

Mom frowns, shooting a concerned glance my way. "Oh, why not? It would have certainly helped, especially if…" she leaves her sentence there as her gaze slowly shifts to the center of the table. A sudden cloud of unease settles over us.

"I just didn't feel like it, that's all." I repeat as I shove in a few mouthfuls of breakfast before dumping my plate in the sink. My appetite, if you could call it that, was gone. I go back upstairs to brush my teeth, then I hurry back downstairs to put on my shoes before leaving out the front door.

A cool breeze wafts past me, tousling my hair back. Running a hand over my wispy hair to sort it back into place, I walk at a brisk pace in a fervent attempt to escape the awkwardness of my home. Yet, I couldn't stop from replaying the words in my mind. _It certainly would have helped, especially if…_ that was what Mom had said. The way she had said it just made me even more depressed than I already was. She was already assuming that I was going to be reaped. Was she doing it just to soften the blow of having her already-estranged son being reaped? Trying to thin out the tiny sliver that could barely be called a connection between me and the two of them?

I reach the park by my school, with the familiar playground that I used to play at when I was little. I stop when I see two others already there, sitting on two of the four available swings. However, upon closer inspection, I realize it's my two friends Ryne and Gerall.

"Hey, guys," I greet as I hurry over to them. They look up at me with surprised yet somber smiles.

"Hi Claus." Ryne replies, waving at me. Gerall nods at me, choosing not to spend his words. I think of this as a wise move.

I sit in the third swing, next to Gerall's. And we just sit there, silent and consumed by our thoughts, worries, and fears.

"You know, this might be the last time any of us sit here." Ryne pipes up, her voice flat and solemn. "Could be me. Could be either of you. Could be…" she sighs, tilting her head heavenward. "Could be any of us."

Gerall shifts uncomfortably in his seat. "I would usually ask you to shut up about that, but you're right," he agrees hesitantly. He looks at me with his dark eyes, so full of apprehension. He can tell that I agree as well. "Our lives are literally being determined by a single slip of paper."

"I probably have a higher chance of getting reaped than either of you two," Ryne says bitterly. "Since I'm the only one that's had to apply for tesserae." I see her knuckles go white as they grip the chains of the swing tightly.

I feel a little guilty for thinking the same; Ryne is the poorest out of us three. Whereas me and Gerall belong to relatively normal middle-class families, Ryne only lives with her father in what would be equated to as the slums of District 5. Therefore, tesserae was frequently a necessity for her. I begin to feel tiny tendrils of relief creep on me before I hurriedly sweep them away.

"Not to mention that I still have two years of eligibility left. Which means even more additions, because no doubt I'll _still_ be applying for tesser—"

"Ryne, just—just shut up!" Gerall snaps angrily. Both Ryne and I recoil, even though the comment was only aimed towards Ryne. I lower my head as Ryne chooses to stare off into space in silent frustration. Gerall alternates between looking at me and Ryne; no doubt he's at a temporary loss for words.

"Sorry." He says sheepishly. Ryne shakes her head, not looking at him. My attention remains devoted to a rather unremarkable pebble that lies at my feet.

"I'm just…scared."

Silence.

Ryne speaks. "…We all are. For each other, for ourselves. We're all scared."

I say nothing, instead choosing to stare at my shoes.

Everyone is ready now, dressed in neat practical clothing. Faces are clean, hair is neatly arranged, backs are straightened. I passed many of my neighbors, dressed up and prepared like this, as I had walked away from the park. They all had blank yet depressed expressions on their faces.

I had retreated back to my house after my brief meeting with Ryne and Gerall, choosing to sit up in my room quietly. I didn't touch any of the books that stood in my bookshelves, nor did I crack open any of my journals, where my numerous short stories were kept. I decided to stack all four of my journals up on my dresser, leaving them out for my parents to see.

_No, stop it,_ one of the voices in my head insists. _Stop being so negative; you are __**not**__ going to be reaped._

"That's not very realistic, thinking like that."

_It's not being unrealistic, it's being certain. You only have your name in there six times. There are thousands more than that. What're the odds of you being selected from all of those names?_

"Remember ten years ago? That one twelve year old was picked. He was killed," I add. "Anyone can get picked. You know that. Don't try to sugarcoat it."

I wait for the voice to speak up again, but it seems the voice has dissapeared.

An hour later, my parents and I are being pressed together as we squeeze in through a crowd consisting of the populace of District 5. My parents insist on standing in the back, but I refuse. I want to be closer to the stage, to the escort from the Capitol. That way, it would be impossible for me to mistake my name as someone else's when they call it.

I stop near the front. My parents follow, slightly jerking forward from suddenly doing the same. Out of the corner of my eye, I see Mom facing me with uncertainty. I look at her, and her expression suddenly changes from insecurity to blank patience. Dad's countenance is the same. They have created masks for their emotions, leaving me only guess at what they're truly feeling. I decide this to be a hopeless task and instead focus on finding my friends.

After a moment of searching I see Ryne with her father off to my left, facing the stage. My gaze scans once more over the crowd before stopping on the familiarly pudgy Gerall behind me. Both of their expressions are forced into looking empty like everyone else's, but I can see their anxiety. I swallow on air and turn back to the stage, where our escort is giving their speech.

Everyone waits, assuming the illusion of patience when, in reality, they all wait for the escort to announce the two unlucky names. I can tell, because that's how I feel. I just want to hear the names. I can't take the tension. I notice my hands balling up into fists; I don't unfurl them.

Finally, the moment arrives. The escort's clipped Capitol-accented voice finishes the practiced speech and gives the packet to an awaiting Peacekeeper. The same Peacekeeper comes back after putting away the packet, this time with a large glass bowl. Thousands of white paper slips occupy the majority of the space of the bowl; it's effectively a bowl full of lives.

This time, the escort takes no time in giving any unnecessary speeches. They must feel as impatient and pressured as we do. They lower their finely manicured hand into the confines of the bowl, swirling around the contents as if it were some sort of soup. We all watch as the hand almost teasingly circles around the bowl, contemplating its first victim. Then suddenly, enough to make some of us jump, the hand selects a single slip.

My heartbeat increases, pounding faster and faster within my ribcage. It screams at the escort, _READ THE SLIP! READ THE SLIP!_

The escort does so. For an instant, the world has stopped.

"Claus Hendall."

Right then and there, my heartbeat is gone. Vanished. It never existed. I know my face is blanching, because I feel all signs of warmth leaving me. My fists tighten as my nails bite into my palms, and before long they begin to shake.

The looks of sympathy and shock I receive clue in the Peacekeepers on my location. Two or three of them leave the stage and approach me with stern expressions. Before I know it, I feel them grabbing my skinny forearms and dragging me to the stage. I do not register it at all. My mind is too occupied with just one thought: _they picked me._

I hear screams. They sound like Ryne's and Geralls, which snap me out of my daze and direct my attention to them. I can see Ryne pushing towards me, arms outstretched for me. I can distinguish Gerall's and Ryne's screams now. "I volunteer! _I volunteer!_"

"No!" I yell out, just loud enough for them to hear. Their voices die down as they gaze up at me helplessly. "No," I repeat, quietly this time as Peacekeepers begin ushering them back. I don't want to lose any one of them, which is rather hypocritical considering I'm the one leaving. But I don't want them to be subjected to what I am about to face.

I glance to where my parents stand, slightly astonished. My heart drops at their blank reactions. At the most, they look mildly surprised. My gaze lingers before I lower my head. I don't want to see those faces, devoid of emotion. Their expressions tell me that even now, what little familial connection we have – or had, rather – is as weak as the strength in my knees. Their expressions tell me that they feel I will not last long.

I vaguely hear the escort call the other tribute, a female, to the stage. "Aella Dekas," the name is, and I can see a petite blonde being ushered up the stage. Though, to be honest, my mind is far too struck into a state of catatonia that I can't bring myself to dwell on it.

I am then pushed into a waiting room, but my senses are too blurred together to notice . I am asked if I want to see some people who are waiting for me. I nod.

I see Ryne and Gerall rushing in, enveloping me in a tight hug. I feel a prickly wetness on my cheeks before I realize that both of them are weeping. My arms slowly circle around them and squeeze them tighter to me, not wanting to let them go. They say things, promises to root for me and to wish me luck every day. I respond back with my own promises, though I force myself not to hear them. I don't want to hear my lies.

After a couple of minutes, they are forced to leave. I wait for a couple more in case my parents decide to speak to me. But the Peacekeepers tell me to hurry up and board the train; nobody else was waiting for me.

So, with the knowledge that my parents had not come to say goodbye, I board the train. My fate is sealed.

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><p><strong>Aella Dekas (by Lexi Blaze)<strong>

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><p><em>I'm not afraid of death because I don't believe in it. It's just getting out of one car and into another.<em>  
><em>- John Lennon<em>

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><p><strong>AN: **Hello everyone! I'm Alexa Blaze. First off, I'd like to say thanks so much to everyone reading this story, and thank you all for leaving reviews! This is getting so much attention; it's wonderful and I know for a fact that it's deserved. Secondly, I want to thank Mikki105 for coming up with this fantastic idea and inviting me to be a part of it! It means a lot to me, so thank you. Lastly, I just want to congradulate all the authors I'm working with. You guys are truly amazing, and some of the best writers I've ever met. Keep up the great work everyone!  
>- Sexy Lexi<p>

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><p>"<em>AELLA<em>!"

I wake up to the sound of my sister's scream ringing throughout the house. Crawling out of bed and wrapping myself up in my blanket, I stumble down the hall, rubbing sleep out of my eyes. Cleo, my 19-year-old sister, is standing over the vanity in her bedroom, looking like someone has just slapped her.

Upon seeing me in the doorway, she lunges forward and tries to wrap her hands around my neck – but I manage to push her down onto her back before she can strangle me. Cleo's eyes bulge out when I flatten her on our hardwood floor; she looks up at me, panting. I must have knocked the breath out of her.

"What do you want, Cleo?" I grumble, pulling my blanket tighter around my lean frame. "You woke me up."

She glares up at me. "You stole my shirt!"

"Which one?" I sigh, rolling my eyes and sitting down on the floor in front of her.

"The purple one I was going to wear for the Reaping!" she shrieks, reaching forwards to pull at my hair, but I swat her hands away.

"Oh, right. That one. Flynn, Pascal and I may or may not have used it as a flag when we were playing 'Capture the Flag' yesterday," I say sheepishly.

"Arghhh!" Cleo screams, doing a backwards somersault into her room. "You are the worst little sister _ever_!"

"I know," I smile, getting up from the floor and heading back to my bedroom, away from her anguished cries. I honestly can't stand Cleo, and she can't stand me either: we're complete opposites, even though we're sisters who are only three years apart. Cleo is obsessed with boys, makeup, hair, and clothing, while I couldn't care less about any of that stuff. Honestly, the only things that interest me are sports, and hanging out with my guy friends – but not because I want to make out with them, like Cleo. Simply because they're the best friends anyone could ever ask for.

I throw on a pair of pants, a white t-shirt and a baggy grey hoodie. The clothing helps to cover my ample chest and curvy body. While my sister takes pleasure in showing as much skin as possible, I don't. I'm actually really uncomfortable with the way my body looks. It's not like I'm fat, extremely skinny, or have no boobs; I just don't like my curves. That's why I wear baggy hoodies: they hide my chest so I can look and feel, well . . . flatter.

Before I run downstairs, I take a quick look in the mirror as I pull my long, wavy blonde hair up into a high ponytail. I like to keep it up because then it stays off my face, and makes running around with my friends easier. Cleo likes to believe I do it to show off my big green eyes, round face, and light freckles dotting my nose, but she's just pretending. She hates the fact that she has a sister who doesn't give a damn about what she looks like.

Rushing downstairs, I see that Mom and Dad are already in the kitchen. Cleo, I guess, is still in her room, searching out the perfect outfit to wear, even though she's not eligible to be Reaped anymore, and therefore doesn't really have a reason to look nice. Mom and Dad give me tense smiles as I wolf down my breakfast. They're worried about me and the Reaping today, but aren't about to break down in tears. It's not like they know me that well, even though I'm their daughter. They spend most of their time at work.

I wave as I head out the door and into the dusty streets of District 5. It's unreasonably sunny today – almost as if the sun is trying to brighten the otherwise depressing day. It's Reaping Day, though, and nothing could make the mood in the District any better. I feel as if I'm standing in the middle of a dark, depressing black hole of despair.

Without warning, something hits me in the back and knocks me to the ground. I roll over in the dirt, coughing; the wind was knocked out of me, and I swallowed a bunch of dust. Looking up, I raise my fists, preparing for a fight with whatever knocked me down . . . but it's just my best friend, Flynn.

"Not cool, buddy," I huff as he pulls me to my feet. Behind him stands Pascal – our other best friend – laughing at me.

"Did I scare you, Aella?" he winks, and I push him. A shoving match ensues; one that I end up winning. We're laughing too hard to continue by the time Cleo marches out of my house. It looks as if she's already put her face on (literally – my sister is a cake-face), and is ready to face the day in a ridiculously short skirt and a top that plunges so low I'm surprised her boobs aren't hanging out. As she walks past, Flynn nods at her approvingly, winking. She just smiles flirtatiously when she sees him, and continues on her way.

It's no secret that Flynn's got a thing for my sister, but their rapport is only skin-deep. He thinks she's sexy, and Cleo thinks he's hot. The end. I'm used to their reckless flirting; I have to deal with it a lot when I'm around Flynn. A lot of girls seem to like him.

I can see why, though. He's got floppy brown hair and soft brown eyes, with a strong nose and high cheekbones. Plus, he's a rather kind, funny and respectful individual: any girl's dream guy. The relationship between me and Flynn is completely platonic, though: neither of us have ever had any feelings for each other, and we never will. Flynn is like the older brother I've never had.

Pascal's almost the same. We have each other's backs for everything, and we're into most of the same stuff. Pascal isn't one for the ladies, though, like Flynn – he's the quiet one in our trio. The ginger with the pasty skin who keeps to himself.

"So, what'cha up to, Aella?" Flynn asks, as Pascal comes to stand beside us.

"Nothing much," I sigh, strolling down the street with them, strides matching even though they're both a year older than me. "Got any money?"

Flynn shrugs. "Yeah, a few bucks. Why?"

"Wanna get some chips and kick around a football or something before the Reapings?"

"Sure," he smiles, eyes crinkling at the corners in the way that makes girls swoon.

We head down to the Square, where people are hastily setting up a stage for the Reapings today. A few Capitol television crewmen are wandering around, checking out the District but never straying far from their base. One of them looks straight at me and gives a low, appreciative whistle. Beside me, Pascal chuckles as he shoves me into the grocery store.

I don't see why guys look at me suggestively, like that crewman did. I'm nothing special to look at: I cover my curves, I don't wear makeup, and I keep my hair back. Cleo says I could be pretty if I actually put some effort into my appearance . . . but really. Who does that?

We purchase a bag of crappy District 5 chips and then quickly stop by Flynn's house to pick up a football and head to the park beside our school. As we pass by the swing set, I see a girl named Ryne waiting for her friends. Flynn goes over to talk to her, but I hang back awkwardly, munching on potato chips and talking to Pascal.

It's not that I don't like her – it's just that I've never exactly felt comfortable around girls. I've always been a tomboy, and I've never really made any effort to become friends with someone of the same gender as me. I find that talking to other girls is awkward, annoying, dull, and ultimately difficult. I have nothing in common with them.

Ryne offers me a smile while she's talking to Flynn, but I don't return it. Instead, I stare at my dirty shoes, covered in dust and grime.

After what feels like forever, Flynn says goodbye to her as some guy joins Ryne on the swings. When we head for the soccer field, I spark up a conversation with my best friends.

"So, how do you feel about the Games this year? Any idea of what the arena might be?"

Pascal snorts. "How would I know what the Gamemakers are planning? It could be anything from an underwater arena to a giant piece of sushi."

I roll my eyes. "Yes, because that's _so_ deadly."

"You ask a stupid question, you get a stupid answer," he sighs.

"Well, you're a stupid person," I crookedly grin.

Pascal glares at me. "You're the one who spent all day yesterday trying to convince me you could see the future."

"How does that make me stupid?" I ask. "It just makes me . . . prophetic."

Pascal pulls me into a headlock, but I jab an elbow back into his stomach. Soon, we are fighting: throwing punches, kicks and insults. Flynn's efforts to stop us are only half-hearted. If there's one advantage to being friends with boys, it's that I know how to throw a good punch.

We resolve our row quickly. Being a tomboy and hanging out with guys means there isn't much drama, and there aren't many emotions hanging in the air between all of us. While girls can be fearful, depressed, furious, lonely, content, and envious (among other things), I feel like I can only ever be happy, sad, and angry. Life is so much easier without drama, and when one doesn't hold grudges.

The football game with Flynn and Pascal turns out to be disastrous. It's difficult to play with three people - usually we're with a bunch of other boys from school - and I accidentally crush the bag of chips halfway through our failed efforts.

"Can we please just do something else?" I smack Flynn on the arm as we lie down on the grassy ground in the park. I fold my hands on my stomach and look up at the sky, but Flynn pulls me over closer to him, so that my head is practically lying on his chest. When I give him a questioning look, his face turns placid.

"This may be the last time I can ever see you," is all he says, before going silent. We watch clouds float by, contemplating the possibilities of our futures. Pascal, jealous of our closeness, snuggles right up next to Flynn jokingly.

Suddenly, a large shadow looms over us. I look up, expecting it to be Cleo or one of Flynn's female friends – but instead, it's a dog.

"Maxi!" Pascal cries, sitting up and wrapping his arms around the golden-haired dog. "What're you doing so far from home?"

I reach out and scratch Maxi's neck; he barks and licks my hand. Maxi is Pascal's pet dog - we found him wandering the streets when we were 12 and he was just a puppy. The golden-haired dog likes to follow us around sometimes, and race us around the District.

"C'mon, boy," I coo at the dog, getting up and running to the other side of the field. He follows, and at the end I jump, sliding on my butt, into a mud puddle. Maxi follows right after, rolling around in wet dirt and spraying me with grime.

Laughing, I knot my fingers in his fur as he licks my face. The underside of my jeans is now soaked in mud, but I really don't care; getting dirty is my specialty. I tend to get messy a lot, because I'm a tomboy hanging out with a bunch of immature teenage boys.

Maxi starts barking when Flynn pulls him away from me a moment later. He's saying something about "leaving," and I don't understand what he means until I realize that it's almost time for the Reapings. I stand up and try to wipe most of the mud off my pants, but it doesn't work. All I end up doing is getting mud on my hands.

Later, when we arrive in the Square, Cleo finds me and freaks out. "_Aella_!" she screeches, not unlike this morning, when she sees the state I'm in. "You are a disgrace to this family," she chides as I roll my eyes. "How can I _possibly _be related to you? I mean, come on! You're covered in mud! What happens if you get Reaped, and you have to go up on the stage with your mud-soaked jeans? You'll be the laughing stock of Panem, that's what. And people will look down on _me _because I'm your sister!"

I shrug and scrunch up my nose. "All the more reason to look like a mess!"

Waving goodbye to Flynn and Pascal as they head to the 17's section, I stumble into the girls' 16 area. I stand on the very edge, as far away from the others as I can be, for obvious reasons. I just really can't interact with girls that well, no matter how hard I try. I always end up saying something offensive or stupid.

The escort starts blathering on and on about the Dark Days and the blah-de-blah-de-blah. I don't pay the slightest bit of attention. They say the same thing every year; the only difference is whether or not the escort looks like a giant bubble or not.

I'm not worried about the Reapings. Although District 5 is one of the smaller Districts, I doubt I'm going to get picked to go into the arena. There are so many names in the glass balls on stage . . . so many names that a_ren't _mine. Unlike pretty much the rest of Panem, I'm not upset, worried, or even nervous. What are the chances that I'll get picked? Practically next to none.

The escort calls up the first tribute – some boy named Claus Hendall. His face is placid, but I can see some sort of inner turmoil going on behind his eyes. Two of his friends – one of them is the Ryne girl Flynn was talking to this morning – volunteer, but he brushes them off. This Claus guy must be one amazingly unselfish person if he doesn't want them to take his place.

The escort then reaches a hand into the glass ball for the girls. I can practically hear an intake of breath from the young women around me, but I just lean against the wall casually. The chances of me getting picked are –

"Aella Dekas."

This time, my breath catches in my throat. I honestly can't believe it. They picked _me. _Even after all my confidence about not being picked. Now, it doesn't matter how many times my name wasn't in that ball . . . because I was picked for the freaking Hunger Games! _I was picked to die!_

My limbs go absolutely frozen solid, so much that a few Peacekeepers have to usher me forwards. I don't even realize that I'm standing on stage until the escort demands I shake hands with Claus. He gives my shaking palm a friendly squeeze, but I can feel that he's trembling, too.

The Peacekeepers then waste no time in shoving us into the Justice Building, where we await our goodbyes. My parents come into the room almost immediately after I'm pushed into the luxurious space. Our goodbye is typical – tears, hugs, I love you's, and good luck wishes. Nothing special happens; but that's because we all know I won't be coming back.

Cleo runs into the room next. I'm baffled to see that she's crying. Cleo, my older sister, who's always so bitchy and apathetic, is _crying. _Over _me. _The annoying sibling who just made a fool out of the family name by walking up onto the stage with brown mud all over her pants.

"Please come home," she envelops me in a big hug. "I don't know what I'll do without you, Aella. Who will I have to scream at, and make fun of? Who will I have to be bitchy towards?"

"Is that all I am to you?" I raise an eyebrow, looking at her with my big green eyes. "Someone who you can pick on?"

She shakes her head soberly. "No, no, of course not. Although I may not act like it, Aella, I love having you around. You're my little sister. I wish I could protect you."

"But you can't," I trail off, stepping away and out of her reach.

She shakes her head as she begins to walk out the door. "I know . . . but I can tell you one thing. Ally with the Careers. They'll protect you, at least until there aren't many people left."

"How the hell am I supposed to convince to Careers to ally with _me_?" I snort, crossing my arms over my chest defensively.

Cleo glares. "Don't play dumb, Aella. I've seen you fooling around with Flynn and Pascal. Not only are you one of the fastest kids I've ever seen, you're great at sports. Some of those skills could come in handy."

"Like what?" I exclaim, my eyes wide and my lips trembling.

"_Argh_! I don't know! Just stop being difficult, Aella. You know you can do this. At _least _ally with the Careers. For me. Then you'll have a better chance of survival."

I snort again. "I'm not doing anything for you. Don't be ridiculous. They won't want me, anyways."

And then, for what seems like the first time ever, Cleo gives me a real, genuine smile. It's not her normally bitchy one, or even her smug one; it's her kind one. "C'mon, Aella. _Think, _little sis. There's at least _one _reason as to why they might want you." And then she steps out of the door and turns down the hallway, maybe never to be seen again.

I glower at a stain on the carpet as I wait for my next visitor, or for the Peacekeepers to tell me to board the train. All I'm feeling towards my sister is annoyance. She can't come in here and tell me what to do, and be all cryptic! I'm going to my death, for Panem's sake. The least she could do is be clear in what she's telling me.

But . . . she is clear. I know exactly what she's talking about. Pascal's father was a Victor a while ago, and he keeps weapons in his basement. He's paranoid about the Capitol coming and trying to kidnap him and his family, or something. The Games can do things like that to people. Anyways, I was fooling around with the weapons at his house with Flynn once. Okay, maybe more than once. But it wasn't like I was _training_ . . . we were simply acting like immature guys, screwing around with sharp objects. Anyways, the moral of the story is . . . I found out I had quite the affinity for the double axe.

But that doesn't mean the Careers will accept me. Hell, I _hate _the Careers. They're bloodthirsty, sadistic children who run around with swords and knives and act like taking a life is no big deal. There is no way I'm going to join the Careers, even if they get down on their knees and beg me to be their ally.

I come to an epiphany, then: I won't join the Careers. Ha, ha. Big epiphany. But if I get the chance, I'll join some sort of alliance _against _the Careers.

Flynn and Pascal finally come in to say goodbye. They give me a bone-crushing hug at the same time, smothering me against their chests. Once I see my best friends, I finally break down into tears. What if I never see them again?

Neither of them are crying, but their faces are pale and gaunt. Flynn wipes a tear gently off my face with his thumb, but a few more just come back and take its place. "Just come home, Aella . . . please?" he begs.

"The District won't be the same without you," Pascal smiles sadly. All of a sudden, they both just turn on their heels at the same time and walk out of the room, as if it's too painful to see me crying and on my way to die.

Hastily I wipe my tears away when the Peacekeepers collect me. There are cameras on the train platform, filming our faces, but I don't give them the satisfaction of seeing me unravelled. Instead, I smile, but glare as well, just to throw the Capitol audiences off.

As I leave the District and step onto the train, I remember a quote I heard once: _"I'm not afraid of death because I don't believe in it. It's just getting out of one car and into another."_ And so, when I look back at my home one last time . . . I'm smiling for real.


	6. District Six Reapings

**Chapter Six – District Six Reapings**

**A/N: **Here I am, SneverusSnapers, at district six – the site of the sixth reapings. This marks us as half way through our reaping course, but it also marks us as one step closer to the hunger games full of death, deceit and lots and _lots_ of blood… who else is looking forward to it, guys? Can I just say form all the authors how pleased we are with the brilliant reception we've got from this already. Almost 100 reviews in 5 chapters! Sure, the reviews are mainly from us, but that's beside the point... And I think we'll all agree that whoever gives us the 100th review... _better make it a good review or else! _Now then, in this district six is medicine. So strap yourself up for these reapings by… the mysterious Jojob19 (D6 female) and the gob-smacking JayFish (D6 Male)!

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><p><strong>Rena Sage by Jojob19<strong>

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><p><em>"We're trapped inside the Matrix, Forced to play our hand, We're filled with so much hatred, The kids don't stand a chance." ~ B.o.B<em>

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><p>I flinch and quickly slide backwards as his cold, dry fingers touch my forehead. Upon opening my eyes, I see his, looking lost and confused. Then, in a quiet interrogative way, he whispers, "Rachel?"<p>

As if it were a routine, I climb off of my rock hard bed and out of my sheets, tangled from my wild sleep full of tossing and turning and trying to run away from my nightmares. Walking over to my father, I speak slowly and clearly the words I have too often had to say in the last four years, "Dad. It's me, Rena, your daughter. Rachel, er…mom, she's dead. Remember? She's been dead for four years now. Go on and get yourself some tea."

With that he turns away slowly to walk towards the kitchen. I begin to get ready and remake my mess of a bed, when he turns around, which is unusual. "The Reapings are today. Come, Rachel, let's wake up the children." He says in an abnormally loud voice. I follow him to go wake my six younger siblings. Some look at their father with sadness, some with disgust, and even hatred. He staggers to the kitchen, appearing perplexed.

We all gather our meager meal, and I make sure to check the health status of all of my brothers and sisters, always paranoid one of them will have the telltale symptoms my mother had before her tragic and gruesome death.

Making our way to the main plaza of our District, Lavender, my youngest sibling, inquires quietly, "Why does Daddy call you Rachel? Will he ever be normal again?" Her question baffles me, because Lavender rarely talks, and it shows me that she most likely doesn't remember mom.

"He's just confused, Lavvy, I'm sure he'll be fine in a few days." I lie. Nervously, I attempt to smooth out the creases in my faded yellow dress, a dress I only wear once a year for the Reapings, as I would never wear a dress for any other occasion. Its light color was once bright, and used to accentuate my glowing amber eyes. As we approach the extremely crowded stage, I pull the children in closer to me, shielding them from the many bodies bustling around each other chaotically. An earsplitting screech emanates from the speakers as our mayor frantically tries to turn the microphone on, silencing and stilling everyone.

As soon as the mayor starts his speech, I begin ignoring the lecture I hear every year about the Hunger Games, why we have them, not to disobey the Capitol, blah, blah, blah, and I then realize that my father is not with us. After searching worriedly for a moment, I come to the realization that he must be on one of his strolls through the forest, where he thinks my mother will miraculously appear and come home, not seeing the truth of the matter. She won't ever be coming home, not since she caught that hideous disease from a patient…

The sound of the mayor just finishing up his 'lovely' oration ceases my thoughts and the Peacekeepers reveal themselves to sort all of District 6's 12-18 year-olds into groups by age and gender. I feel horrible, having to watch my brothers and sisters begin to weep, given that their only steady almost adult figure is now leaving them unaided in a large swarm of people.

My best friend, Rae, who has always been steady and helpful, gives me a sad smile and a reassuring hug when she finds me searching for my siblings, only to find them looking isolated and miserable. Luckily, the voice in the microphone jerks my gaze away from the small, wet eyes staring at me. The escort on the stage is very plain, which is odd, since the escorts from the Capitol are usually quite abnormal and peculiar looking. Our escort is a pallid woman with short, jet-black hair, cut short like a boy's, with dark, yet inviting, eyes. I wonder at how the Capitol would allow such a sane looking person to be an escort. Although bizarrely basic, she had simple beauty that made her seem pleasant and welcoming.

"Happy Hunger Games, and may the odds be _ever _in your favor! My name is Layna LeFay, your new District Six escort! Let's get started with the female tribute!" She spoke in a soft, but not quiet, smooth tone.

Without wasting time, she saunters toward the two, large glass bowls occupied with the countless slips of papers, all containing a name. Not all different names of course, as mine is in there numerous times, along with many other teens trying to keep themselves and their families alive. I didn't recognize how petite our escort really was until she stood next to the table that is holding up the crystal orbs. Having to stand on her toes to reach over the edge of the bowl and delve her hand into the slips of paper, she shuffles through the innumerable amount of paper until she settles on a small, thin paper strip. Her dark eyes scan over the ornately written name as she coolly makes her way back over to the microphone.

In her heartening voice, Layna reads the name. "Relk Stien…Relk. Relk Stien!"

I watch as the chubby, conceited, blonde boy angrily stomps up the stairs, looking rather annoyed. He glares harshly at our polite escort, making her shrink away. I know him, but then again, mostly everyone in our district does. He's notoriously known for being extremely wealthy and handing out his beloved candy, money, or food to those he approves of. I never felt the impulse to suck up to him to get food or money, though it would've been helpful. I didn't want to have to get something from others, being the independent person I am, and I most definitely didn't want to hang around someone so snobby and self-centered. He doesn't even treat his followers with respect.

She then approaches the bowls again to pull out the name of the female tribute.

Speaking with a small quiver in her voice from Relk's aggressive stare, she calls a name, "Rena Sage. Please come up to the stage!"

At first I'm glad at how she didn't drag everything out dramatically, and I almost giggle at how she unknowingly rhymed, until I grasp the truth of the name she read. It's my name. Mine. Rena Sage. I feel a small nudge as Rae tries to get me to walk up to the stage, not noticing that she's been talking to me, and crying too. Her typically bright green eyes look gloomy and dull as I turn away from her.

Composing myself, I take my standard long, fast strides through the crowd and up the stairs with a blank face that I hope looks careless and confident, as those are the feelings I'm trying to channel and insert into myself. As I pass Layna, she whispers reassuring, kind words that are inaudible to me, as I'm only hearing the loud bawling of my siblings.

With dry eyes I smirk at the camera, aiming to seem almost pleased. As Layna asks for volunteers, I listen intently, wishing someone will want to take my place. Alas, no one volunteers. Without waiting for the escort to usher us to shake hands, I reach for Relk's chubby, white hand. The plump little brat doesn't even look me in the eye as I firmly shake his hand. He just pouts at the cameras, almost looking for pity. I make a promise to myself that I won't pity him.

The small, sweet escort tells everyone to go home as Peacekeepers surround Relk and I. We are lead to the Justice Building to say our final goodbyes-the part I've been dreading the most.

Lavender is the first to rush in the small room with the cheap chair I'm sitting in. As soon as she's fully inside, my five other siblings charge in to bombard me with hugs and tears. They're all bawling and hanging on me, which tears me to pieces. I am determined to stay strong and hold my tears in, although they're all making it very tough. I look down at their blonde heads, as I am the only one who inherited my mother's brown hair, and reassure them that I will win and come home a victor so we can live lavishly and never have to struggle to find food again.

"Will we look like Relk?" my eight-year-old sister Jasmine asks fearfully.

I'm laughing, thankful that one of my siblings could cheer me up. Instead of answering, I pick her up and tickle her, letting her join in on my laughter. The others come in to have a last moment of enjoyment before I leave. Unfortunately the Peacekeepers come much too soon. I give all of my brothers and sisters' hugs and kisses to send them on their way, trying to hide my worry from them. My worry that I won't come home, but that they will die of starvation, or that my father won't come home from one of his walks and they'll be sent to the orphanage with all of the other neglected children. The Peacekeepers peel my siblings off of me and haul them out of the giant door that's much too big for such a small room.

I expect Rae to come out from behind the slowly opening door, but my father appears instead, astounding me. I'm standing, probably looking as if I've just been slapped, when my distant father does something he has not done since my mother's death. He hugs me. Stiff as a board, I wait for him to release me from his once strong arms that are now beginning to soften from loss of muscle. He pulls back slowly, keeping my shoulders in his firm grasp.

"Rena," He whispers. "I'm so sorry. I-I never let go of your mother's death. It was all so-so sudden." He stutters as the tears begin to flow.

My being reaped must have sparked something inside of him, as he finally recognizes who I am, and let's go of his wife, keeping her in memory, but not letting the memories destroy him.

Instead of crying or spilling my thoughts out to him, like I anticipated I would, I begin to yell.

"How could you leave me to raise your kids? Do you know what you've put me through? I've struggled to find food for us as you just stumble in a daze through the forest! I had to become a parent to six children and one adult at the age of twelve! It's taken you four years to apologize and stop being in denial? You must've known that mom wouldn't come back after the horrifying disease stole her sanity, and ripped her from us! We both saw it. Knew it. Felt her pain!" After that last part I burst into tears, hugging my father and crying into his shoulder, my own shaking. He's finally back. My father, who left us mentally but stayed physically, is finally back and mostly himself. The thought dawns on me how dying in The Games won't be too destructive to my sibling's lives anymore, they'll still have someone to care and provide for them. Seeming to read my thoughts, my father gently moves my head from his shoulder to look me in my eyes, with his now clear eyes.

Speaking calmly but firmly, he begins, "You will win. I have faith in you. You know the forest and much more than any other tribute. Don't give up before you even have the chance to begin. Stay alive, since your mother could not. Fight harder than she did and you'll be fine."

With impeccable timing, the Peacekeepers barge into the small room first full of sadness and desperation, but now filled with forgiveness. My father walks out mouthing words that might possibly be the last he says to me, "I love you."

Relief washes through me as Rae sprints in to envelop me in a long hug, resulting in us both crying. "I've never cried this much." I say while sounding quite blubbery. After breaking from our hug she goes on about how I'll make it and win the games, while the only thought I have is _I'm going to miss her and my family so much. Why did it take my being reaped to wake my dad up? I wish I could win. _

Suddenly, breaking my negative thoughts, Rae exclaims, "Oh! Your dad looked like he used to walking out! What happened?"

She's the only person who's ever cared to know about all that went on with my mom and dad, and the only person who cares to keep on knowing. I explain his amazing breakthrough to her, becoming happy and hopeful again. Maybe the odds are in my favor…

I'm asked to leave as the Peacekeepers guide Rae out of the room after our last goodbye. Looking at the ground is keeping me together. I've been going from feeling hopeful, to feeling hopeless on the whole walk to the train. I'm still sad about my siblings, but as I'm being herded towards the train I feel eyes on me. Upon looking up I see a throng of people with cameras all pointed towards Relk and I as we board the train, so I mask my worried face with an air of confidence. Maybe if I look ready and happy about being reaped, I'll start to believe it myself.

I'm wondering if I should try to find an ally when I almost run into the Peacekeepers in front of me. Like usual, I have to slow my pace down to that of most people, which annoys me to the extreme, since I would much rather walk fast. People have told me that I look like I'm speed walking all the time, when it's just that I walk fast. Relk hesitates at the door, and I almost ram into him. When he finally walks through the doors I linger for a few moments so that I don't crash into the chunky 13-year-old when I bound up the steps and into the faintly lit train, starting my atrocious journey that is The Hunger Games.

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><p><strong>Relk Stein by Jayfish<strong>

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><p>When I wake up, I remember that today is reaping day.<p>

Well, it doesn't actually matter. I have _so many friends; _they wouldn't hesitate to volunteer for me. What would they do without me? Probably starve to death or something. I look down at my rounded belly and smile. There's no way _I'm _ever going to starve to death.

"Relk! RELK! Its breakfast time, sweetie! Come downstairs!" Breakfast! Oh boy. Best part of the day, besides lunch, after-lunch snack, before-dinner snack, dinner, after-dinner snack, dessert, and second dessert. I roll out of bed, landing on my feet, and jog downstairs. By the time I make it to the kitchen, I'm breathing deeply, and a light sheen of sweat covers my face. Darn running. Gets me every time.

My mother is standing at the counter, holding a delicious-looking plate of goodies. When she sees me, she swoops, giving me a large kiss on each cheek. "Mom," I complain. "Stop. I don't want lipstick on my cheeks."

"Be quiet if you know what's good for you," Mom says through a large smile. She hands me the plate and I slam it onto the table, sliding into my chair so fast probably nothing could keep up. I snatch a fork and attack the plate viciously, stabbing eggs and shoveling them into my mouth, buttering toast so quickly that a normal person wouldn't be able to keep up, eating said toast, and cramming in bacon with my pudgy fingers. With one swallow, it all goes down and I look at Mom expectantly.

She laughs, three chins wriggling. "Just like your father," she says, getting me another plate of bacon and eggs and putting some toast in a pan to fry. My father died of heart disease. We have no idea how that happened.

After finishing my second and then third plate of breakfast, my mother absently mentions that today is reaping day. She looks a little worried, but it's okay; she knows the Mayor _personally_; there's no way he'd ever let me go to the Hunger Games. I'm safer than everybody else in District Six. I've only got my name in there twice, so I'll be fine. Absolutely. Everybody loves me anyway, so even if I do get picked, there'll be so many volunteers our escort won't know what to do with them.

Mom decides that I should wear something nice to the reapings. I decide that she's being an idiot and tell her so, and get smacked as a result. Holding back stinging tears, I am compliant as she wrestles me into a navy suit that I used to wear years ago, when I was still gross and skinny, like an alien. A few buttons pop, but it's fine. She adds a dark jacket and a little red tie and we're set. I have to wear my dad's old dress shoes, which are too big for me, but I can manage walking with only minor clacking.

We head to the square, Mom and I. Eventually she has to leave me and I walk over to the section for the thirteen-year olds myself. It's no surprise when I am swarmed. I said I was popular before, remember?

There are dark-skinned kids, light-skinned kids, boys, girls, small kids and tall kids, but they all have one thing that makes them the same: they are hollow. They are so thin and sickly that it disgusts me to look at them. I recognize a few of them, and a couple I can even put names to. These are my friends. They _love _me.

I open the bag around my arm and smile at my friends. "Alright," I say, pleasantly. "Who wants some chow?" Every hand is immediately raised. "Alright," I say. "I don't have that much in here today, so who _really _wants some?"

"Me! Me! Me!" Everyone is yelling, jostling each other. My eyes pick out one girl, McKayla, I think. She is standing quietly and not jostling. I pout.

"You're supposed to get in with the crowd, McKayla," I say irritably. "Not just stand there like a stupid sheep. Come back next week; you're not getting anything today." McKayala's auburn eyes fill with tears, and she stumbles away, shoulders shaking. For a moment I feel bad, but she didn't deserve any food anyway. She wasn't even trying. Come on, how lame is that?

"Come and get it, guys!" I yell, tossing a loaf of bread high in the air. There are almost animalistic screams as my friends dive for it, writhing on the concrete to be the first ones to cram a piece of warm, oaky bread in their mouths. Honestly. I didn't even get to the bacon yet.

My friends and I are interrupted by the escort. She is tapping on the microphone to get everyone's attention. "Sorry, guys," I say. "That's all for today. Go away." The kids who had gotten some food walk with a spring to their step; those that didn't trudge. Well, it wasn't exactly my fault; the reapings are starting! Honestly, sometimes these kids drive me nuts, they really do.

I munch thoughtfully on a piece of crispy bacon as I look up at out escort. I'm not really listening to her talking; blah, blah, Hunger Games, blah. Who cares what she has to say? It's probably not important, anyway. She's kinda pretty, with short black hair and dark eyes, and she doesn't look anything like most Capitol freaks. Ick. I don't like her anymore, she's ugly. At least the Capitol people have fun with themselves.

She's calling a name. Holy crap, what was that? I listen intently, and she calls it again. "Relk. Relk Stein!" _What? There's no way. No way in hell. _My palms are sweating, and I take a hesitant step towards the stage, dropping my bag of food. My friends are upon it in an instant. Funny, but none of them look as though they are going to volunteer. My fear turns to rage. What? No volunteers for _me?_

I storm up to the stage and glare at the escort when she gets too close. She shrinks away looking hurt, and hurries over to the female reaping ball, calling another name. Rena Something; I'm not actually paying attention. I'm too busy glaring at the cameras, telling everybody watching to shove it.

Rena Something walks up to the stage. She seems annoyingly confident as she mounts the steps and grabs my hand before the escort gets a chance to tell us to. She shakes once or twice but I don't look her in the eye. I pout into the cameras instead, hoping that the people watching can understand. They shouldn't be appealed by this girl anyway; I, Relk Stein, am clearly going to win these annoying Games anyway; or at least come awfully close.

The escort is dismissing everyone, telling us all to go home. I am still not listening to her, and am therefore taken by surprise when a squad of Peacekeepers surrounds me, taking me towards the Justice Building. Oh right, it's the time when we get to say goodbye to everyone we love and care about.

I hope my friends will show up. I'm going to kill them for not volunteering for me. Well, it doesn't really matter if I don't get a chance to see them again. Either way, they'll die for this, because without me, where will they get food? Right, they won't.

Rena Something and I are marched to the Justice Building and split up. I am sent to a small room with a tiny chair that is difficult to sit in. Not that I have to sit in it for very long, because my mother bursts in almost instantly. Her makeup is running down her face with her tears, and she is sweaty and disheveled. "Mom," I say, and she envelops me, squeezing me so hard it is possible that I have cracked a rib or three.

"Stop," I say, trying to pull free. She wails in my ear, squeezing me tighter, and I stop trying to escape. She is at least thirty times stronger than me, and she can get very nasty when she wants to be.

Eventually she holds me at arm's length, sniffling dramatically and looking me over, probably thinking it's the last time she'll ever see me. "Stop making that face, honey," she says, confirming my suspicions.

"No," I mumble, still glaring. Her eyes well up again.

"Please!" she sobs, nuzzling into my neck. I cringe.

"There," I say, making a purely ridiculous happy face. She seems to buy it though, smiling through her tears.

"Oh Relk," she says. "I just want you to know that I've always loved you and I always will and…"

"Do you have any food?" I interrupt her. "I'm starving."

She smiles. "Of course I do, honey," she says, pulling a giant sandwich out of a bag I hadn't noticed before. I chow down on it while she finishes talking. "… and you'll always be my special little man, no matter what happens."

"Mm, right," I mumble through a mouth full of mustard. With difficulty, I swallow. "So do I get a token, or what?" I'm hoping that it'll be candy. Even though that means it will be long gone before the Games even get close to starting.

My mother looks dismayed. "Well, I… I hadn't thought about that," she whispers. "But I'm sure I have something…" She feels around in her bag until her fat fingers catch hold of something. Smiling in relief, she pulls out a lettuce leaf.

I groan. "Lettuce? I _hate _lettuce!"

"I know, sweetie," she says. "That's exactly why I'm giving this to you. So you won't eat it before the Games start." Damn, she's pretty smart. "But I also have some candy for you," she adds, emptying her pockets. I grab fistfuls of brightly colored candies and shove them in my mouth, enjoying the explosion of flavors. I am something of a _connoisseur _of candy.

There is knocking on the door. My mother looks up and immediately begins crying again. I roll my eyes as she hugs me hard enough to kill me. Peacekeepers swarm the room, separating me and my mother with difficulty. She bats a few of them away with her purse. "I LOVE YOU, SON!" she roars as they pull her out of the room with difficulty. "GOOD LUCK!"

It is all very embarrassing, to say the least.

Nobody else shows up. They have me wait for a bit, just in case, but nothing happens. I am not disappointed. In fact, I am excited about returning home to the Victor's Village and showing my friends just what I think of them. No more food for them, oh no! They can get it from somebody else from now on, because I, Relk Stein, will not be helping out.

The Peacekeepers show up again. I think I can see Rena Something amongst them. She seems a bit sad. Well, whatever. She doesn't matter to me, anyway. Unless I need an ally… Huh. I suppose I'll think about that later.

We head to the train station. There are swarms of cameras, all hoping to get a glimpse of us. I glare at them, showing my lack of fear. They can do what they like, because I'm ready.

The train is making a screeching sound and we are being herded aboard. There's nothing left to do now, I suppose. I take a deep breath and step into the dim interior of the train carriage, unconsciously sealing my fate.


	7. District Seven Reapings

**A/N:** Snev here once again, this time bringing you to district seven, the home of Johanna Mason and her legendary temper! Think about how she stormed her hunger games with her legendary style of pretending she was weak (though some of us don't have to pretend, huh?). And while all of her brilliance may have sprung from Suzanne Collins' mind, I really think it's down to this here district, number seven, the one before district eight - the best district _ever_ with the most beautiful and higjly talented author writing for it, and I'm not talking about Cloud-Lover26. ;D Anyway, district seven is home to so many creative ideas and spunky peolple, it holds a true place in my heart! Oh yeah, and there's a couple of trees as well. I'm pulling you along to these reapings written by… the horrendous PenMySword (D7 female) and the, *ahem* different Phoenix Refrain (D7 male)!

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><p><strong>Aspen Chekhov by Phoenix Refrain<strong>

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><p><em>Stretch bent to help Julius, grabbing Lachlan's other arm. 'Here, let me help, he must be heavy.'<em>

_Julius smiled grimly, his face dripping with water. 'He's not heavy, he's my brother.'_

_~Matthew Riley, The Five Greatest Warriors, page 349_

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><p>Even though we're allowed to sleep late on the day of the Reaping, Araucaria and I are awake at dawn. This is our last year in the Reaping, the last year we can take tessarae for our family. After this year, we'll have to make due without it—because we will not allow Acacia or Ashe to take extra rations.<p>

I'm awake, even though I can sleep late today. I can feel the anxiety beginning, just like it does every reaping day. You'd think that your seventh year in the reaping would bring a calmness or—well something, but it doesn't. You're still just as afraid as the first year, maybe even more so because you have more tickets every year.

It's useless to try to sleep any longer now, so I get out of bed and head to the kitchen. Acacia is sitting there already, her dark brown eyes standing out in her pale face. I know she's afraid for us—for her older brothers. We're the only ones with extra tessarae—one for each family member, for each year and one for each of us. Aspen and Araucaria Chekhov, the twin brothers with fourty-nine entries each.

As she looks at me, I want to tell her that we're going to be okay. The odds have been in our favor so far, haven't they? But last year it was fourty-two, the odds aren't good. We don't have the most entries; there is another family who's been tempting the odds for years. This is their youngest child's last year, and then they'll make it through unscathed.

I'm brought out of my thoughts when Acacia puts down her cup of brewed bark and pine needles. The cupboards are almost bare right now, and we're thinner than we have been in months. Her eyes are bright with the threat of tears as she comes to me and wraps her arms around my waist. "I'm scared, As."

I want to tell her that I'm scared to, because we have every reason to be scared. But I can't, I'm supposed to take care of her. "You'll, be okay. I promise." I kiss the dark brown head that leans against my chest.

She looks up at me, "I'm worried about you and Ara."

It's an easy lie after so many years of reapings, "We're safe Acacia. We're going to be fine."

But even she knows now that I'm lying, that she might be sending one of her brothers off to death in a few short hours. Her brother can't fix everything anymore, not like when she was little.

I'm outside holding a meager handful of coins. It's not enough to buy anything good at all. I think I can manage some stale bread possibly. I make my way to the Baker, who's having quite a busy morning and I work out a deal with him. Cleaning the ovens for a month, plus a few of my coins for a supply of stale bread no one else will eat. We've made the deal often in the past, sometimes he even gives us a fresh loaf. We shake hands on it, and I carry our two stale loaves back home.

Ashe is up, the same doe eyed expression on her face as Acacia's as she's standing there. I give Acacia the bread and she does her best to make it edible while I wake Araucaria and get dressed for the Reaping. Ashe is headed out to a friend's to spend the morning—a diversion from today. The rest of us have our meager meals with our father after we help him to the table, he's so gnarled and twisted and deformed despite his young age that we have to help him everywhere he goes. Our mother is gone, her duties for the day can't be dismissed. There's lots of money to be made working on Reaping day.

It's time to head there. I can feel my pulse quickening, and that familiar feeling in the pit of my stomach as we walk outside, side by side my brother and I. Acacia is helping our father, nested under his arm in her pretty but threadbare dress.

Isabella runs up to Araucaria and throws herself in his arms, she's trembling but trying to smile for him. I love her, so does he—but not in the same way. "It's all going to be okay, As." She always could read me so well. "Can I talk to you a minute?" She loops her arm in mine before she pulls me to the side while Ara is helping Acacia with our father.

"Sure," I say unsure of what she would want to tell me alone. We share everything, she's the only person I have this connection with besides for Ara.

She's looking down at her toes for a moment, before she's looking back into my eyes. "You're going to be an uncle," she smiles.

I can't help but smile, "That's wonderful!" An uncle! I can't believe Ara hasn't told me.

"Not so loud," she blushes furiously. "I haven't told him yet—I'm waiting till after…" She looks into my eyes, knowing I'll understand. Of course. He'll be free after the reaping, she wants to make it easier on him in case it happens—in case, he's reaped.

"We'll celebrate after," I pull her to me and hug her. "Congratulations."

* * *

><p>It's the typical speech. I can repeat it word for word by now, so I pretend to listen and look attentive. I glance around and see my sisters holding hands together, Acacia's hand behind her back reaching toward Ashe's in the row behind. She's wearing a pretty dress—much better than we can afford, something she must have borrowed from a friend. They're shaking, and as our escort greets us in his vulgarly cheerful voice, I hold my breath as he reaches in for a girl's name.<p>

"Jonella Birchalynn!"

I can feel the relief that it's not Acacia or Ashe, but I know her. Not well, but she's the daughter of a furniture maker. I know her in passing, we've even spoken once or twice. The carpenter often helps us out with problems—not charity, because he really needed us once. But still.

The girl makes her way up to the stage, and I'm impressed. She has to be scared, but she's not showing it. And of course, there are no volunteers.

Next, he's reaching his hand in for the boy's name, "Araucaria Checkov."

I can feel the horror, my brother— my twin brother. He's the mirror to me in looks, in so many ways. I can feel how stunned he is. He looks at me, and offers me his hand. He looks scared, my baby brother—only by five minutes. But he's _my _baby brother, and I'm supposed to take care of him— whether he likes it or not. He is worth dying for.

I do the only thing I can do. I grab his hand, and shake it before I take off at a sprint for the stage. When I reach there, I can see our best friend Adain holding roughly onto Araucaria's shoulders. He knows it's Araucaria—though not most will. Before he can object, before he can try to stop me from doing it, I answer our escort's question, "Araucaria Chekhov?"

"Yes," I say simply.

I can see the look on my brother's face, maybe he's angry at me— he can't tell them that I'm only pretending to be him though.I might be hurt, and it's his brotherly duty to protect me, even if it means I die.

My eyes sweep the crowd. No-one seems to have noticed the switch, we're safe. I've done the right thing.

* * *

><p>I shake Nella's hand, terrified of what is going to happen to us in the arena—of what we might have to do to each other, if we want to come back alive.<p>

I'm sitting the luxury of the waiting room when Araucaria bursts in first, the rest of our family coming in behind him. His face is livid, but he's still careful what he says. The Capitol is always, _always_ watching. "Why?" He asks.

This is the farthest I've ever felt from him, and the closest. He just looks at me, and I know he understands. That's what hurts the most. If it had been me—he'd have done it. But I know he's feeling the very thing I was, how can I live if he dies? A part of him—me, would always be missing. For the first time, I think volunteering for him might be purely selfish—because I don't want to live without him—so I'm forcing him to live without me. But he has a life here, he has a purpose. He has love—he's going to be a father even if he doesn't know it yet. Knowing he'll be safe that he will have chance at a normal life in seven—it makes the burden, the fear of dying lighter.

He looks at me, and I can see the question in his eyes. I pull him to me, "You're my brother." It's not eloquent, but it's enough. It's the only explanation I have. I will die for you, it says.

It's only another minute, before we're all in a circle—arms around each other. Our father and mother are sobbing. We may not have been rich; but we've always had each other. "Aro," my father says in his broken voice. "Come home to us, Aro. Come home." I know that it's hard for him, knowing how hard these months will be on our family with me gone—knowing he can't sponsor me. Yet, he also knows he raised me right that he can be proud of me. I see it in his eyes.

I nod my head to him. They wish me words of comfort, and then all words fail as we sit there just holding on. I can feel the tears burning my eyes, but I don't let them fall. And then it's time for them to go. My sisters cling to my arms and kiss my cheeks. I can see goodbye in their eyes, and Ashe looks at me with drops of tears on her lashes as she whispers to me before she goes, "Don't die. Please…don't. Fight hard, no matter how hard it is. We're waiting for you here."

Aro is the last out, when I call to him so that they can all hear, "Take care of Isabella. You're the one she really loves."

And then the door closes.

I only have a minute before Isabella is in my arms, she's cradled against my chest. "You—"

"I know," I stop her before she says anything she shouldn't.

She looks up at me, "Come home. Promise?"

"I'll try," I say. I push the hair back from her face, and I give my next speech. "I know that it's…Aspen you love. It's okay. Just be with him, I'm letting you go. Marry him like you want, have a family—a life."

She nods her head, biting my lip. "I won't ever forget what you're giving me." She kisses my cheek lightly before she's gone.

* * *

><p>I have a few more visitors—the baker, he lets me know that he'll make sure to always have stale bread for our family to work for. Adain telling me I'm brave, and I can come home. A few more friends—until it all melds together.<p>

Then I'm only alone for a few more minutes before the cameras are flashing in my face with Nella beside me, as they photograph the latest tributes from District 7. Before I leave my District 7 for the first time in my life, I take one last look around. This is the last time I will see this place. The full impact of it hits me. This is the meaning of the banned song of our district. I barely stop myself from muttering the words, from endangering my family. Yet, the words are in my mind still as I realize the truth of them. I will come home "in a box to bury me."

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><p><strong>Nella Burchalyn by PenMySword<strong>

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><p><strong>AN: **Hey guys! Let me just say that it has been such a privilege to be working with all of these fantastic authors! I truly hope you like my character Nella! Funny enough someone asked me if Nella was a reflection of me. Truthfully, she is the exact opposite of me. It's kind of funny; Enjoy.

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><p><em>"Every Word Written is a Victory against Death" –Michel Butor<em>

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><p><em>From a short distance, I heard the rattling, and clanking of dishes, followed by light conversations that merely sound like muffles, which gained my attention to wake up. My head sluggishly raised as my polka-dot covered bed sheet started to get more wrinkled as I attempted to prop myself up. My arms were cocked against the comforter, and my back leaned against the head board. It took me a couple of minutes to become less groggy. Brown strings of hair rest over my forehead annoying me. Until my mind seemed fully aware again, was when I blew the hair out of my face, and loosely turned my head. My eyelids slightly scrunched together, aiding me to see better. I saw the black rimed clock reading 6:16<em>

_Damn it._

_I extracted my covers from me, previously draped completely over me, and jumped out of bed. My mind was flustered, causing the incapability to think straight. Multitasking, I pulled my arms through a plaid top, while trying to fix the ruffled tank top underneath. I attempted to put my jeans on in a rush, causing me to lose my balance. After I was done, I grabbed my orange backpack, quickly stuffing, a blue lace dress, a purple silk dress and black heels, along with my small notebook with a pen attatched to its side._

_I took a look at my clock, reading the time: 6:21_

_I'm going to be late, was the thought that constantly occupied my mind. I ran out of my bedroom, passing by the open-door bathroom. My sister Marina dwelt inside, viewing herself in the mirror, trying to make herself as presentable as possible. I ran past the kitchen, pulled on my sneakers and swiftly ran out the door._

_I slung my backpack over my shoulder as I sprinted towards my families' hardware and furniture store located in the town square. From a distance I could see the store, and its surroundings. The town square was empty and unscathed by the citizens of district 7, but even though no one was in town, I needed to get to the shop on time for Ashe._

_My sprint ended when I was standing in front of the huge wooden sign reading "Bentley's" _

_My impudent mother despises the store, and wants it sold, but my father annually denies her on this plead. My brother Cedar and I are the only ones who enjoy the store. My mother has Marina convinced that it's a pitiful job, and that she should follow in her footsteps as an employer of the Capitol when she's of age. _

_I used my body weight to push against the thick and heavy wooden doors, and ponderously trudged through, extremely tired from the sprint here. Walking through, my brother and father wrapped up their blunt, yet subtle conversation about the exports of our beautifully crafted furniture to the Capitol. _

"_Ah, finally Nella!" Were the joyous words that came out from my brother Cedar. His goofy and brotherly grin had stretched across his face, exhibiting the eccentric look of glee, upon my arrival._

"_Morning Nella," Was how my father acknowledged my presence. His smile was a lot less friendly than Cedar's. The bleak smile seemingly appeared plastered on, and fake, masked behind the form of his lips. _

_Anxiety had clearly conquered him, as his bad acting shone through. He tries to act like everything is going to be okay, even though it's easy to see the stress he's going through, with plenty of ripples on his forehead. _

"_Your brother and I have to go get ready. You know it's your turn to take care of the shop?" My father muttered, as he began to put his coat on._

_I nodded in response, while I made my way over to sit behind the monstrous oak desk._

_My brother Cedar promptly shifted his gaze from me, onto my father._

"_I'll catch up with you at home Dad-io!" Cedar smiled. He always tries to lighten the mood in a room._

_My father hadn't said anything in response. He only stared straight ahead, and walked out the door, as the wind muffled through, and sent papers flying across the desk._

"_You know he's just scared for you and Marina, right?" My brother smirked, while cocking an eyebrow. His eyebrow raised so far up, it caused him to give a light smile, while he did so. _

"_I know, I just wish he'd be more cheerful, in case this is my las-" _

"_You're not going to get reaped." My brother cut me off. His smile had evaporated from his lips, as my mood turned uglier, as his did the same. _

_He had noticed that I felt a bit uncomfortable about him raising his voice. He never does it, unless he's truly mad. Over an awkward and silent couple of minutes, his tense expression slowly faded into a more slump, and free appearance, trying to act his usual for me. I stood behind the desk, with my pelvis against its hard frame, when he came beside me mirroring my stance. Before I knew it, he playfully knocked his hips to mine, shoving me to the right. His joy-full grin caused a light chuckle to erupt out from inside of me, and escape through my lips._

"_You'll be fine." He said, followed by a re-assuring nod and smile. _

_My reply came without words. I leaned my head on his shoulder, using it as a focal point, to turn around, and become face to face in order to give him a light hug. After a couple minutes he slowly and gently let go. _

"_I've got to go, but I'll see you at the reaping's, okay?" He asked me._

_I nodded, while I plopped myself onto the stool behind the desk, and watched the back of him move towards the door, followed by another gust of wind. He held the door open, for more wind to blow through, just in an attempt to annoy me. I gave him a sarcastic grin, as he deliberately smiled back, and finally walked away._

_I sat in the stool, awaiting the customers, who would not dare spend time away from their family on reaping day. Today I was waiting for someone in particular. I was waiting for Ashe._

_-Nella_

I finished my journal entry, signing it with my name at the end, like I always do. I enjoy writing in my journal. It makes me smile to look back on previous things I wrote, seeing at how I used to think back then. On top of that I do write stories. You know, the ones where you can be anything you want. Where you can drift away into another reality, and where you can be who you truly want to be? Yup, those fantasy stories.

I sigh, as my brain begins to relax, through the mere peace of silence. My head droops down, and I rest it in my hands, with my elbows propped against the table. Within a couple seconds, that peace is interrupted by the sound of the door opening. My expression of laziness changes to elated, when I see that it's Ashe walking through the shop door.

"Nella!" She says with a smile, running towards me, and embracing me in a hug.

My smiles widens so big that my nose is forced upwards and crinkled against my face.

Ashe is the youngest member of a quite poor family in our district. Her two older twin brothers are my age, and occasionally work at my dad's shop for extra money. She also has a sister one year older than her, aged 15 years old. They're all very nice kids. Admittedly, I've had a small crush on her one of her older brothers, but I'd never tell her that.

Usually after school, she comes to the shop, and she helps me with my work. In return I provide her with after school snacks, and occasionally sneak some money in her backpack. Although she refuses to take it, we both know that her family is in need of any money that they can get their hands on.

I told Ashe to meet me here this morning, because I wanted to treat her a bit. I open up my backpack, taking out short purple silk dress, and black heels also too small for me and I throw it at her. They used to be my old reaping clothes.

"It's beautiful!" Is all she can get out. Her eyes are goggling at the dress.

"Go put it on!" I insist. There's a slight nagging tone in my voice, which I don't realize until after I've said it.

Before I can see her, I can hear the black heels clunking against the hardwood floor. Before I know it, I see her light skin tone beautifully matched with the purple in the dress. Her dark brown hair rests on her shoulders, covering the thin straps of the dress. She truly looks beautiful.

"Your turn," She says, throwing me a hostile smile.

She can tell that I'm as dis-pleased as she is to be all dressed up.

When I come out, she smiles and nods her head. My blue lace dress is very tight fitted and long sleeved. Like Ashe's hair, mine is draped over my shoulders.

"You look beautiful!" Ashe smiles.

I stare down at the floor realizing that I'm still wearing my running shoes. Ashe snickers, also noticing that I've forgotten my heels. I just give a slight laugh at my own stupidity. What does it matter? Running shoes are more comfortable anyways.

Ashe is staring out of the shop window as she sees the people gathering for the reaping.

"We have to go now, don't we?" she asks me, as slight shimmering tears begin to form in her eyes.

I nod, and walk out the door, with her by my side.

* * *

><p>Wind begins to pick up, and it's a good thing too, considering the mass amount of people squished together, making it very sweaty. Quiet chatters spread across the crowd like a plague, of some silly rumour insensitive people always make on reaping days. Uplifting from the balls of my feet, I stretch out and stand on my tippy-toes as my scathed running shoes make it quite easy to have a wide range of movement. Over the polished heads of the District 7 citizens I can see the beginning of the ceremony is about to take place.<p>

Up on the stage sits our strict and rigorous Mayor who sits beside our capitol escort covered in hideous silver tattoos running up and down his body outlined by his wrinkles. The last person up on stage is District 7's mentor, and only remaining victor. She sits legs crossed, with her back straight and pursed lips. Her make-up entrails her eyes in a dark shadow and her dark brown hair is up in a high pony-tail. She's wearing a small and slinky black dress, revealing a bit too much. She looks very seductive causing all of the guys to drool over her.

As I am trying to look at what is happening on stage, someone shoves me slightly in the arm. As I look over, I see the crowd splitting like the red-sea, as I can see my older sister Marina walking closer towards me. Her hair is loosely down at her sides, making a pretty frame for her fair skin, sprinkled with light freckles that always reminded me of small golden grains of sand. Her eyes, as always look beautiful. They're a mix of sea green and sky blue. They always reminded me of the ocean. I had a theory that her eyes were the reason that my parents named her Marina, since it means "Of the Sea".

Her smile escalates up her face, as she comes close enough to stand beside me. The Mayor releases a muffled cough from his throat, in an attempt to gain the attention of the District. Within a second everyone is silent, all waiting in advent. The Mayor begins to recite the speech he always does on reaping day, about the dreaded dark days. No one really pays attention to the speech, it's truly pointless when the events have been drilled into our heads by our teachers already. I remember when it was my first reaping, being so intent on listening to the speech as if the mayor were to point his beastly finger at me and ask me what he had just said, like the teacher always does in class.

Before I know it, I can hear the pitter-patter of the mayors scuffed shoes scraping the stage, as he makes his way back to his seat. Within seconds the Capitol escort is standing face to face with the microphone, with two bowls of names placed in front of him.

Marina's head swiftly turns towards me. Her eyes glimmer with a sheen of the layer of tears over her eyes, caused by the anxiety everyone goes through on reaping day. She gives a sympathetic smile, followed by a soft whisper in my ear.

"Good luck," She whispers.

I return the gesture of a smile to her, when she encases my hand in hers. Her dainty fingers intertwine with my scarred and burned fingers from overwork at the shop. We stand there in the 18 year olds section, hand in hand for the first time ever, as I think to myself that I cannot wait to be able to write the odd episodes of today in my journal.

"Let's start with the ladies!" His heavy voice sings. His capitol accent is thick, making his words barely audible.

From the high-quality microphone you can hear the crinkle of the paper. He takes a breath before announcing the name, and through that millisecond I feel a quick sting of nervousness for everyone here. And then the motion of his lips begin, and out comes the name of the female tribute.

"Jonella Birchalynn!" The name echo's across the crowd.

I look beside me to see the tears that were stored in Marina's eyes are now rolling down her cheeks, and her dilated pupils are oddly shaking slightly.

"No…not my baby sister…" She says under her breath and through mere sobs of pain. I take a gulp, followed by a deep breath. Some people are staring at me, and others heads look left to right, trying to figure out who this is. I walk up to the stage, carefully walking up the stairs. My head turns left and right, feeling awkward, as all eyes are on me. Noticing that they're looking at my dirty running shoes, my cheeks redden, and become slightly rosy. I look out into the crowd, seeing Ashe. There are also tears running down her cheeks, and she's shaking her head left and right, in disapproval, through fear.

Before I knew it, the escort had taken another deep breath, and was prepared to pick the boy tribute.

"Araucaria Checkov!" He yells out.

I can see the life in Ashe's face drop. No, this can't be happening. That's her brother! My mind is spinning, thinking of the tragedy that Ashe is going through, losing two people. Emerging from the crowd I see her brother, except…it's not Araucaria. I would know. Instead of Araucaria walking up, it's Aspen, her other brother. My mind is baffled, but as he walks up to the stage, people seem to believe that he is Araucaria.

* * *

><p>"Mom, Dad, Cedar, Marina!" I say, as I see them burst through the doors of the justice building. They run towards me.<p>

Everyone's eyes are puffy, and all are grasping me in hugs. No one says a word. We hug, as our tears turn from drops, to streams, cascading down our cheeks. Time ticks away, and my family backs down. I try not to make eye contact with any of them, as my eyes dart from furniture to walls.

My father is the first one to speak. His hands harshly grasp my face, as they uncontrollably shake from the capacities of tragedies today.

"Come home Nella…please." Stutters my dad.

"Dad, it's almost impossible…I just ca-"I tried to say, but was cut-off, by my brother.

His face was beet read, and tears continued to fall down his face. His words were muffled and confusing because he gave a huff and an occasional sob between each word.

"Don't say that you can't. You can. I have hope,"

I didn't know what to say. I knew that I would not be able to make it, and I can easily conclude that they knew this too. Part of me believes that they're trying to reinsure me, for their own piece of mind.

"Here," Says Marina.

Her hand is gestured out to me, holding my Journal. To this day I continue to marvel at its beauty. The leather is carved to look like a beautiful tree, which always reminds me of my home. I was about to give a light smile, but was interrupted by Marina.

"I read it." She said slow and soft.

My mind bounced. Although I was headed to my death, my journal was the only private thing I had, and it was infiltrated.

"You what!" I yelled.

"Why the hell did you read it Marina? It's got my life in it; all of my stories I wrote!" I yelled again before she could interject.

Tears began to build up in her eyes again. Her face was splattered with mascara, and her forehead was sweaty.

"I brought it hear for you…and I read it. I'm sorry Nella! I just wanted to know who you were before you…" her words were cut off by another round of sobs.

She collapsed to the floor, and onto her knees.

I couldn't find the words, to express the anger I had.

"I wanted to know who you really were! I…I…had always blamed myself for never paying attention to you." Marina ranted, through an endless cry.

"We love you Nella," My Dad piped up.

"We truly do." Added my brother.

My dad pointed to my journal, as he tapped it lightly with his chunky finger, then redirected his finger to point at me.

"Take it with you; as your token." He said.

"You have a gift" Marina said, her appearance still unraveled upon the floor. My eyes lightened, as I looked up at him. Someone actually enjoyed my writing. I didn't expect other's to actually find joy out of it.

My family huddled around me for the last time.

"Nella" My dad whispered.

My head shot up, in desperation to hear him talk to me as much as he could, before he had to leave.

"It's your weapon." My brain was frazzled, as I hadn't had a clue what he meant. My eyebrows knitted together as an impetuous action, and before I could ask him what it meant, within one swift act, Peace Keepers had burst through the doors, and began harshly dragging my family out, as they opposed to this action. My family could do nothing to stop them. But before they left, my dad quickly opened his mouth.

"The pen is your sword…Use it"

And with that, they were all gone. All I was left with was the memories of the past, all bounded together in a small and delicate book, that I will keep connected with my heart forever.


	8. District Eight Reapings

**A/N: **Snev here, reporting to you from district eight. Ah, district eight. My favorite district! It's so much more than some stupid sowing district, it has real atmosphere! I personally have set a whole three-part series in district eight about Kara Jaymond, a rather feisty girl who comes from this district (Feel free to check it out – Gnawing Hunger, Shattered Hearts and Final Strike by SneverusSnapers =D). The best thing about this district is the authors, or rather, one certain author with extreme talent, who's writing for it. So without further ado I present you these reapings written by… the phenomenal SneverusSnapers (D8 female) and the okay-in-comparison Cloud-Lover26 (D8 male)!

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><p><strong>Oak Loaker by Cloud-Lover26<strong>

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><p>It was all so surreal. One second I was wading through a golden field of wheat (we never get to see anything like in District 8), the other I'm tottering from side to side on the edge of narrow cliff. The ledge is barely the length of my foot. Although I was always told I have large feet…<p>

And that's when I fall off. Everything's happening in slow motion. I can hear the wind howling in my ears, deafening me to every other sound. The air rushing by my outstretched limbs, that are desperately trying to cling to something, anything. The water getting nearer and nearer to me, and eventually painfully colliding with my body. I go under, my eyes still open. The salty water stings them, so I shut my eyelids tightly, praying for the burning to go away. I keep flailing around in the water desperately, since I can't swim, when a realization hits me, like a heavy ball you weren't expecting.

I'm drowning. The air can't make it to my lungs, freezing cold water threatening to fill them instead. My eyes are still burning. I can feel myself freezing all over, my limbs getting heavier and heavier, harder to lift with every movement. The weirdest part is, that I can hear someone screaming "Oak! Oak!" off in the distance…

I shoot up in my narrow, uncomfortable bed, my eyes wide open, only to have my forehead collide with my some mystery person's. I turn slightly to see my older sister, Tara, rubbing her head, groaning in pain.

"Sorry, didn't mean to hurt you. Or me, for that matter," I apologize, frowning. She has enough pain to deal with, both emotional and physical, without me adding even more.

"It's ok, you didn't mean to." She turns to face me, still keeping her hand on the top left side of her head. Her golden brown hair, the exact color of mine, spills over her left shoulder in perfect waves, as usual. I keep wondering, how did she get the perfect hair, and I get this weird mess that just stands up, no matter it's length? Absentmindedly, I run a calloused hand through my ever-standing hair, feeling the coarse texture. Oh well, my hair is part of me. Might as well embrace it, though I never think I will.

"You better get up now, the reaping is in about 2 hours, but Mom is worse than usual." She's referring to how my father beats my mother and Tara. Though he never touched me, except one time when he was drunk about a year ago. He says I'm his favorite, that I'm so much like him. I never want to have anything in common with that abomination of a human being. There's not even a reason for him to be so cruel to his own flesh and blood, and what's supposed to be the love of his life. I often wonder, what got my father to this kind of stage? I don't remember my childhood much, but from what I can slightly recall, and from what I've been told, my father was a calm, stable, gentle man. What in the hell happened to him? Another question to remain unanswered. I sometimes think I have too many questions like that, and I only come up with more.

"What did he do to her this time?" I ask wearily, already feeling tired, though I just woke up. Every time, these things seem to age me by another 2 years.

"He punched her in the face a couple times, and when she fell, kicked her stomach and legs." She says barely above a whisper, a tear leaking out of the corner of her eye. I know this hurts her even more, because most of time, Tara witnesses everything, and when father is done with mom, it's Tara's turn.

"And you? What did he do to you?" I whisper, trying to catch her gaze, which is stubbornly staying on her hands. She's turning them this way and that, as if she's seeing them for the first time in her life.

She won't answer me. Tara knows I take this hard, and tries to keep the true extent of her injuries from me. I grasp her shoulders and give her a tiny shake. Tara immediately winces and instinctively moves away from my hands. I ignore her shifting and move her raggedy blouse a little bit off her shoulders. Sure enough, they're covered with bruises in the shape, as if someone had grabbed her shoulders really tight and shook her. I suspect that's what happened.

"Tara, you can't continue keeping this from me!" I exclaim, exasperated. I'm truly, honestly worried for her and my mother. If there was only a way to wipe people off this earth…

"Start getting ready, Oak. I'll run a bath for you," Tara mutters, sounding as if she just lost all her will to live. Wouldn't be surprised, I don't think I could keep up a charade for long. And with those words she exits my room, probably to tend to mother.

After I have bathed, eaten and dressed myself in stiff, black dress pants and a fraying gray dress shirt, Tara and I need to wait for mother. Father always leaves early and comes back late on days when he beats my mother and sister. At least one thing that stays constant.

While I was staring into space, off in my own little world of thoughts, mother had managed to get down half the rickety, old staircase. I shifted my glance to evaluate her, see if any larger bruises are showing. People talk, and we don't want to be the ones they talk about.

I can't see any major bruises, so we leave the house. Our little shack is in the middle of the poor, nameless region of District 8. People called it many names, but I preferred leaving it untitled. Maybe one day I'll come up with a name for it that I actually like. I'm doubtful, but nothing is impossible. Or so they tell us.

It's about a 10 minute walk from our shack to the Town Square that has been decorated for the "grand" Reaping. The Capitol acts as if it's something to be happy about, to celebrate. Keep on dreamin', Capitol. Keep on dreamin'. Nobody likes the reapings, to be honest, we all despise them.

All the colorful banners and ribbons stand out in District 8, what with all the black, grey and muted silver tones we have in our district. The elevated stage is the most colorful part, tying the knot on the whole thing.

I walk over to Tara hugging her to me, wishing in my head that neither of is picked. After stepping back, she kisses my cheek, and I smile. I then walk over to my mother and hug her. Possibly for the last time.

"Bye." I mutter to both of them. I turn to Tara and reassure her with my eyes. "Good luck."

I walk over and sign myself in, only to be herded into a long and narrow pen for all the 15 year old guys. We're all squished together, barely being able to move around. The most I could do, I think, would be spin around on my axis (speaking in smart words), but that's pretty much it.

The reaping is about to start, the mayor already up on the stage, rambling out the same speech he has for the past numbers of years (I don't remember when he became the mayor). I think if I had to do, I could recite that entire speech from memory.

And then, the escort shows up. You never want to hear her voice. Ever. It digs into your brain, scratching everything inside and tearing up the outside, piercing your fragile eardrums. It's so high, and shrill… It's like nails scratching on a chalkboard multiplied by ten times and then add… Honestly, maybe it's not that bad, but I tend to exaggerate. It's still pretty bad though. I guess I just need some entertainment, something I'm not getting, until the reaping is over.

It's now time to pick the tributes. The revolting, plump escort is waving her lilac hand around the boys' reaping ball dramatically, her gaze passing over fake emotions of excitement and exhilaration. A slip is finally picked, every breath held, the escort's arm finally calm again. She brings it up to her surgically altered face, scanning over the name. Please don't let it be me. Please don't let it be me. How will mother and Tara survive?

"Oak Loaker." The name rings across the silent square. I freeze. I can't move. I can't breathe. I can't think. I'm getting dizzy. I feel someone nudge me, and I look up. All eyes are on me. I slowly start my journey to the stage, keeping my face blank of any emotion and steps measured, as not to fall over my own feet. My knees are shaking badly, I hope it's not noticeable. I don't want to be taken as weak. My thoughts are filled with memories of my father beating my mother and Tara. What will they do? How will he cope with my loss? Obviously, physically. I'm scared just thinking about it.

I'm on the stage and I nod to the lilac being. She's staring at me as if I was a piece of meat. I want to hurl. Next time I'm sick, I'm staying around her the entire time, just so I can vomit all over her mustard hair and lilac skin.

I turn around and face the crowd, scanning the faces, for those of my mother or sister. I can't find my mother or father, but I spot Tara in the 18 year old pen, silent tears running down her cheeks. I look down at my shoes, not being able to stand the sight emotionless.

"Maia Spring." The escort calls the girl's name. I don't know her. Thank god for that. No one steps up, and the escort repeats the name with a slight note of distress in her voice. "Maia Spring."

"Here!" She finally speaks up in a slightly hoarse voice, walking over to the stage. She's wearing a black, skin-tight leotard. Not standard reaping attire, but still interesting. I note that she has very good posture and neat, measured steps. Maia seems very graceful… Couldn't say that about all that many people. She smiles at me just the slightest while she's walking up, as if acknowledging my stare. I look away, slightly embarrassed. I must've seemed rude, I didn't even smile back. Well, there's going to be time for getting to know each other later. Now is not the time for that, although now is the time for assumptions and thoughts.

And so, here we are. District 8's new tributes for the Hunger Games. Might as well kill me now.

The Peacekeepers, clad in the usual white uniforms, march us into the Justice Building. Maia and I are sent to two different rooms. She looks really shaken up, for a second or so I feel like I want to comfort her, but I quickly banish these thoughts, I can't get close to anyone. It'll only hurt more in the end.

The room I am roughly pushed into has one long, red velvet couch and a couple padded chairs. The walls are a clean white, though you can see some cracks at the place where the wall connects to the ceiling. I plop down onto the soft couch and wait for my visitors. Who would want to see me? My family and my two best friends, I guess. I don't want to see my father though… He caused a lot of the pain that is in my life. I don't want to make this worse than it already is, I don't want to see him.

While I'm contemplating my life, or rather lack of, the door opens and my mother and sister walk in, teary eyed. The door closes and I rush over to them, immediately being engulfed in an embrace. They're crying, wetting my shirt, but I don't care. I would cry too, but I can't let the cameras see my tears. I'll be perceived as weak, and that cannot happen. I need to win this and come back.

A couple minutes later, they're both giving me advice on what to do and not do in the arena, they're begging me to come back. I swear I will, almost letting the tears spill over. I control myself at the last second though. I hug them both one last time, kissing both their cheeks. They embrace me just as tightly and say "I love you" one last time.

The next people to come in are my two best friends. Kayla and Thom. I've known them since I was a little kid, about 5 or 6, I think. Thom is a little taller than me, has blonde hair and green eyes (quite unusual). Kayla on the other hand is very petite and only reaches just a bit above my shoulder, has light brown hair and blue eyes. We're like the perfect set, tall, average and short. My sister used to always tease us about that.

They don't waste time, immediately sitting next to me on the couch on either sides. They give me lots of advice on what I have to do.

"If you die in that arena, I'll make sure to come over there and bring you back from the dead, just so I can yell at you," Thom tells me, smirking. I smile involuntarily, though I feel like crying.

We share a last manly hug, before he walks out, giving me a mock salute on the way out. I'm not sure, but I think I saw something glimmering on his cheek. A tear. Never thought there would come a day when I would see Thom cry. The captain of the wrestling and running team. A jock, one of the toughest in the whole district.

Kayla hugs me tightly around the neck, my arms around her tiny waist and my face buried in her hair. We are silent the whole time, not breaking it until she leaves. Before she does though, she kisses my cheek one last time, tears freely flowing down her eternally flushed cheeks.

"Thanks for being my friend when I needed it most," she whispers, her voice breaking.

"I could say the same to you," I reply, not missing a beat. I mean what I say.

She gives me a mock salute and a soft smile. It's kind of an inside joke with Thom, Kayla and me. We came up with it a few years back, and have been using it ever since. I mock-salute her back, smiling widely one last time.

That's when the Peacekeeper pokes his head in, informing Kayla her time is over. She smiles at me again, before padding out of the room.

It's now time to board the train. The one that's going to take us to the Capitol. The escort made me stand and wait for Maia at the exit. She must be still busy saying her goodbyes. That makes me wonder, what kind of people does she know? Who does she want to say goodbye to? I may never know.

While I'm standing there frozen, pondering life, love and liberty, she has left her room and brushed by me, right into the flashing cameras. I follow her, not being sure which way she's headed, and just hoping that she'll take me to where I need to be. While walking, I'm also swiveling my head side to side, trying to take in the look of these ridiculous creatures behind the flashes. Colorful hair and skin, tattoos, piercing… Disgusting, really.

And with that thought, I board the train, that is supposed to be taking me to my death, or possibly, my gruesome victory.

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><p><strong>Maia Spring by SneverusSnapers (the best author ever!)<strong>

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><p>"<em>Here we live by the golden rule:<em>

_those who have the gold make the rules"_

_~ Anon_

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><p>When the yelling of late Capitol partiers doesn't start I know something's wrong. My eyelids flutter open to the first rays of the morning sun and I find myself lying face down in a bed, the itching covers draped over my stunned body. Wait a second, this isn't my bed. Slowly both my eyes and my mind drift into a fuzzy focus. Oh yes, I'm in district eight. Home.<p>

Though to me this is far from home, I only come here once a year anyway. Once a year, so that means…

Reaping day. What else could it be? Why else would I be crammed in a bed with some sort of snuffling creature tugging at my feet. Automatically I flinch and jerk my feet away from whatever's pressed around it until I notice what, or rather who, it is.

"Janey?" I mutter as the face of my eleven year-old sister pops into view, her frizzy black hair left dangling and her pale skin somehow more tanned than mine, probably the amount of time I spend indoors.

"Maia, you're awake!" squeals Janey; even the look of her excited face sending a warm feeling swelling through my heart. "I was so worried about you, how's it been for the last year?"

I pause and bring myself to recall the events. I've been part of a travelling circus act for the past six years. They scouted me out and picked me up when I was eight. Being slap bang in the middle with seven children and another one on the way, my parents could hardly refuse their offer. Especially since they'd be receiving my wage which totals the average adult's working salary in district eight. We tour the Capitol where there's never a shortage of parties for us to entertain at. It's not the cushy lifestyle as you might have imagined, often working all night and never being allowed to touch the lavish spread of food in front of us in fear of a beating. Doesn't mean we don't touch it of course, but no more than necessary to keep ourselves healthy in such an extensive lifestyle.

Unlike Janey's frizzy black hair, mine is as flat as pressed cloth and is permanently slicked back into a tight bun. Since I'm the acrobat in our circus troupe, performing feats of gymnastics like a performing monkey just to keep myself alive, I find my figure is much like that of a ballerina's. My posture is immaculate and sometimes people think I'm vain just by the way I stand. That's so far from the truth I bet you couldn't even see the truth if you landed on that conclusion. I don't really care that much about myself at all.

The point is that I'm a gymnast, and try my hand at tightrope walking if the situation decrees it and my best friend and mentor, Cindy, pulls out for some reason or another. And even though that seems to rule my life I'm still technically a member of district eight, even though I only come here once for the reaping and to hand over a wad of cash to my parents, the taste of money overpowering their senses and obliterating the fact that their daughter is here with them for the first time in a year.

Not that they ever really cared. And to be perfectly honest, I don't care either. We've drifted apart so that now, even though they're technically my parents, I feel no special bond between me and them. In fact it's rather awkward when I'm at home. I just can't wait to get on the road with Cindy and the crew again, tailing around the Capitol streets and pulling ridiculous pose after ridiculous pose, even sometimes having the pole dancers glare at me as I steal most of their attention. I always love it when they do that, it makes me feel a lot more special, as if doing all of this twisting and turning with my body like a mutation and jumping back and forth, back and forth, is actually for something. Of course the best part is when I get to show off my _real _gymnastic skills, but that doesn't happen very often.

But instead of saying what I'm thinking, conveying my thoughts to my younger sister, I just give off a slight smile and say the same words I find myself saying every year.

"Average work Janey, average work." And with that I rip off the snuggling comfort of my covers and leap out of bed, my toes pointed like they always are. I'm still surprised that ballet scouting group didn't offer to take me in with them. Then again, I am a gymnast primarily. And I suppose that's what I'm going to be doing for the rest of my life. Until I don't fit the bill anymore and am replaced by a fresher, younger and more enthusiastic version of myself. But that doesn't even bear thinking about, and anyway, that's a long time away.

I find myself wandering down the stairs and into the part kitchen, part sitting room, part dining room and all general living space. I find that the jet black leotard with contrasting white tights that I was wearing yesterday still on. My work uniform. Oh well, I suppose there's no harm wearing it to the reaping. No-one there's going to recognise me anyway. It's really hard, with the reaping. We all come from a jumble of different districts, but mainly the wealthier and career-type ones. So they drop off the tributes one-by-one until finally they stop at the end of the line - district eight, home. Cindy comes from six, but aside from her virtually everyone else is from a career district so it can be rather awkward when the hunger games come around and we're called into the sudden influx of parties, I can tell you.

I'm just heading toward the kitchen area of the room when a sudden snort echoes around the house and I swivel, startled, at the sofa in front of me as I see something on it rising and falling. I'm about to shriek when I notice it's only my older brother, Harley. It's odd seeing him still here, knowing the reaping starts soon. I think about waking him, but I brush it off and find myself exiting the room to go to the reaping, slipping on some plain black shoes on the way out. I guess I don't know him well enough to wake him up. I don't know my own family well enough to even hold a conversation with them, it's rather embarrassing.

The route there is straightforward and I find it's branded itself into my memory without me knowing it has. District eight is exactly like I remember. The towering factories chugging out smoke, the absence of a bit of green grass anywhere in the area. And yet I still love it. Even if it's only for being my home district where I was born and supposedly raised. I find myself in the town square, relishing the feeling of recognition rubbing throughout my body. I'm reasonably early, so when I head to one of the flanking peacekeepers he's free from anyone else trying to tick off their name. I feel nervousness running through my body, but I ignore it and approach him anyway. I've always hated going up to strangers, I really have.

"Maia Spring, fourteen, district eight," I murmur, my face turning red when I notice that I've just stated my district even though it's pretty obvious. My face turns even redder when the peacekeeper give me a funny look, his bristling stubble bobbing at me with his double chin. "Please," I plead for no apparent reason and he turns his face back to his clipboard and, after a few tense moments of flicking through layers of paper, ticks my name off on the list.

"Fourteen year-old section over there," he grunts, tweaking his head slightly to the side to indicate where I'm going to stand. I nod politely as I've been taught to do and hurry over to the fourteen year-old section, finding an awkwardness consume me as everyone around me fights out the chill in the air with reluctant gossiping, while I just stand alone, submerged by the filling crowd as the whole district pours into the square.

When the reaping finally starts I ignore the bubbling sensation filling my stomach and look straight ahead, my teeth gritted into a grimace. Let's just get this over with and go back onto the road, it's a lot easier that way. A lot less painful. There's no point in saying goodbye to my family, I prefer it that way. So when next year I arrive with another pay check it will be all forgotten just like me as they money rolls over their senses.

I'm actually jerking myself awake in the mayor's speech, and when he says that the Capitol's pure I can't help myself sniggering, which embarrassingly turns a couple of faces to swivel around into my direction. It's just I've entertained at enough wild parties in the Capitol to know they're far from pure. I've seen everything, from pole dancing, drinking contests and even prostitution. Well, I've heard of it anyway. Apparently someone went up to Cindy and asked how much it would take to get her into bed with them. Thankfully I can say she slapped them, but I know that certain other members of our troupe might be slightly more lenient in that department. Even thinking about it gives me a shudder.

"Hello darlings!" The Capitol accent that I know too well echoes around the square and I look up to see the face of our escort. She's a rather dumpy woman with a double chin and about as much stubble the peacekeeper before me had. Her skin's been dyed a lilac colour and her hair, a sort of custard cream yellow, is definitely a wig.

The district doesn't reply, of course, and the escort finds herself talking to an unreceptive crowd.

"Too excited for words I see," she grins, "Well I can change that. Let's have a little dip in the reaping bowl shall we?"

And with yet another sickly beam her hand wavers around the top of the bowl and then dips her hand in, swirling around the entries as if she was mixing in sugar to her tea. Finally, after a brief screech of "get on with it" from a particularly rebellious member of the eighteen year-old crowd who is soon submerged my peacekeepers, she pulls out the first entry.

"Shall we see the gentlemen first then?" she grins and slowly prises open the paper before reading out a name that I thankfully don't know. Well, I wouldn't know it anyway, would I? I only come here once a year, and i doubt I'd even know the name of one of my family if they were called. But the last name is different to mine, so I'm safe. "Oak Loaker!"

A boy of average height with golden toned skin and short sandy brown hair from the fifteen year-old section looks stunned with a hollow look fixed in his eyes for a moment until he's nudged by someone next to him and steps up to the stage, nodding solemnly to the escort and just managing to mask the quiver in his steps. He's brave, if I was picked I'd be shaking like I leaf… before anything else can strike me I hear a name being called out above everything else and a silence embracing the district, a name which knocks out any thoughts I had before and leaves me focusing on it, a dry feeling creeping up my throat.

"Maia Spring."

And with those two words my whole life turns upside-down. My dreams, my hopes, my future. All gone. And just those two words sending harsh shivers down my spine. I'm going into the hunger games. I'm going into the hunger games. And I'm not going to come out alive.

"Please," I murmur under my breath, pleading with an invisible someone that my hearing had played up and what I had just heard wasn't the truth. That I'm not going to die. That there's another Maia Spring in district eight. But I know there isn't.

"Maia Spring," the escort repeats and I feel a brief murmuring running throughout the crowd. I glance at the peacekeeper who I talked to before and he furrows his brow before opening his mouth. He's going to say about me, I can't escape this. The best thing I can do is deal with the situation as it is presented, that's what I just have to do.

"Here!" I speak; my voice cracking slightly as I say the words as loud as I can and the peacekeeper gulps his sentence back down his throat. Now I've recognised my situation all I have to do is deal with it. There will be time for tears later.

Step by step, measuring everything I do carefully and ensuring I don't fall over, I step up to the stage. Everyone seems to be staring at me and I suddenly feel extremely embarrassed seeing as I'm wearing a black leotard where virtually everyone else is wearing normal clothes of the hue between brown and light blue, where my outfit is evidently out of place. I would shrug it off, explaining about my work uniform, but I can't find the strength to speak. Especially to this number of people.

Oak's looking at me in a strange way, as if examining me. Probably the same way I would have looked at him earlier. I find a slight smile of my face and direct it at him, but I don't think he notices because he doesn't smile back.

I reach the stage, legs trembling and desperately trying to get into control of myself, and sink backwards to let our escort take the limelight.

Finally, after what seems like hours but only could have been a few more minutes, I find a pair of peacekeepers stand by my side and escort me to the building where I'm going to say my goodbyes. The room I get put in is plush, but nothing compared to the extravagance of the Capitol. I guess that's one advantage I have over all of the other tributes – I know what the Capitol is like. I know what they want. And I know the consequences of what will happen if I win, and I can say for certain I'll end up a lot worse than those pole dancers. I've seen it happen too many times.

A knock on the door jolts me back to my senses and I'm surprised to see my upset mother staggering in, the money that blinded her now having been swept away with maternal care. Dry eyed maybe, but upset nonetheless.

"Oh Maia, it's all my fault," she gulps, sitting next to me on a soft velvet bench. Then, after a quick pause, she grabs the maroon velvet cushion and stuffs it into her bag surreptitiously, a guilty look spreading across her face as money and possessions overtakes her daughter once again. We have a saying in our circus troupe. It's that we live by the golden rule: those who have the gold make the rules. And no matter how sad and depressing it sounds, it's the truth. And the tributes will just have to get accustomed to it, because it's the way of life in the Capitol, and pretty much anywhere else really. Never mind about love, even that can be bought at some price. Money conquers all. It makes me feel sick, but it's the bitter truth.

"It's not your fault mother," I say stiffly, really not at this whole comforting job. Anyway, she should be the one comforting me. I'm the one that's going to die, I'm the one who's just had their life mercilessly tossed away into the gutter with just one pluck of a slip of paper. Yet somehow I'm too stressed for tears, and all I can manage is this awful sinking feeling in my gut.

"It is though," she confesses, "I signed you up with enough tesserae that could blow up a house."

"You did what?" I gulp, suddenly anger, an emotion I rarely feel, striking through my veins and highlighting my pain from the reaping.

"Well I've gotten so close to the rest of the family, and I barely see you. So to make sure we didn't starve-"

"You condemned your own daughter," I say, bitterness riding through my mouth. "How many times was I in there mother, come on, you might as well come out with it all."

The last time I'd felt so angry was when that Capitol man had approached Cindy. I can't explain my emotions, they just felt so raw and exposed. So bare, so unkept like an overgrown garden. And they feel so wild, like nothing I've ever experienced before. I've always been able to keep how I feel in check, but with all of this going on I don't know if I can keep it up for much longer.

"About seventy times," my mother gulps.

Upon hearing the extravagance of that number, and myself only being fourteen, instead of the rush of anger that I was feeling up until now I just feel betrayal. Pure, solid and wicked betrayal. The plush seat I'm sitting on becomes as hard and as cold as rock and my whole body stiffens at the knife my mother just plunged into my heart.

"Out," I say flatly, my voice hoarse, my finger pointing to the door. My mother automatically obeys, not even questioning my emotions. Her eyes still dry.

I find sitting on the bench now so unbearable I sink to the wooden floor, the polished wood slippery underneath me, but somehow softer than the velvet seat. No-one else visits me, I ensure that. I step up and tell the peacekeeper outside hoarsely that I'm not accepting any visitors. It's that one from the reaping. He just winks at me and I take that as an acceptance of fact. Then I sit back down on the wooden floor and let my emotions ride over my body. Needless to say I cry, a lot. The sound snuffling out of me almost blocks out all of the other sounds – almost. I can hear a voice distinctly like Janey's kicking up a fuss from outside the room, but the peacekeeper must have won because with a clank and an object sliding through the slit in the door, she's gone. As is all my ties with my family. They're just not worth it, they're not my real family. If they're not going to treat me like part of them then I don't see why I should treat them like part of me.

When I get the rap on my door from the peacekeeper signalling to me it's time I leave I rise shakily to my feet and plod steadily to the door, trying to get a grip on myself for the cameras. Using the back of my hand to wipe my eyes once more, knowing the leotard won't stretch to reach my eyes, I step forward and am about to leave the room when I take a moment to stare at the object Janey slotted through the bottom of the door. I feel my heart skip a beat when I realise what it is. Janey had this special bangle barely a centimetre thick made of a simple metal with a basic cross pattern engraved onto it. She never went without ever since she got it. I've never seen her without it every year I come back; it was a gift I gave to her on her fifth birthday just before I went and joined the theatre group. I know I'm cutting all ties with my family, but this is… this is something else. So I bend down and push it onto my wrist. There, now I can break all my ties with my family, and this will; be the lone reminder of what I've left behind.

So with that I step out and into the flashing of the cameras, peeling behind Oak like nothing had ever happened. That's it, I'm ready. I'm ready to do whatever it takes. Whatever it takes to win this thing.


	9. District Nine Reapings

**A/N: **Now we've got the good chapter out of the way I have to drag myself to district nine, which they've settled on as dealing with mutations. Don't ask me, that's why I said _they've_ settled onto it. I never get a voice in things like that... Now, after you've seen my amazing writing I expect many of you are desperate for more, but we have to deal with the reapings before we can talk about that and reveal our awesome order (created by me, the Pharoah of awesomeness of course) for the pre-games chapters. And before you start praising LegendOfZeldaFreak for her amazing song writing skills let it be known that it was I who wrote that song, on her request. If you hate it then... blame her! It was totally all her fault! Anyway, this reaping for you was written by… the psychotic LegendOfZeldaFreak (D9 female) and the delirious nightfuries (D9 male)!

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><p><strong>Sapphire Tree by LegendOfZeldaFreak<strong>

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><p><strong>A.N:<strong> Hello! Go... district 9! Whoo! Anyways, I'd love to have feedback, even if it's negative! And now, the moment you probably haven't been waiting for... DISTRICT 9'S REAPINGS! (**Note from Snev:** _hyperactive much?)_

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><p><em>"If it means my death, I don't care, because even death will be a sort of freedom." -Catherine Fisher<em>

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><p>"Sapphire..." a bubbly voice says above me.<p>

Without opening my eyes, I wave my right hand at the voice. "G-Go away..."

"Sapphire!" the voice says more firmly, yet not enough that it still isn't kind.

Ever so slowly, my eyelids flutter open. I see Riley, my only friend, standing above me, smiling as always.

I say something oh-so unintelligent that involved lot's of grunting and snorting. Riley giggles and says, "Sapphire! Wake up!"

At this, it's like my senses come alert and I sit up. "W-Why are you at my house?"

She just cocks her head to the side like a cute little puppy. "You really _don't _know?"

My eyebrows knit in confusion. I shake my head no and Riley giggles. "It's reaping day, of course!"

I sigh and my shoulders slump. "Now, for the ultimate question, why did you wake me up this early?"

Riley giggles her annoying giggle again. "Uh, Saph, reapings start in ten minutes."

My eyes literally expand fifteen times their normal size and I throw off my bed covers. I whip to the other side of the room and slip through my, _sadly_, expensive clothes.

Riley starts humming some tune I don't know or care to remember. I finally decide on a plain, sleeveless, black dress with ballet flats. I throw them on quickly and grab Riley firmly by the arm.

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><p>After much commotion, Riley and I make it safely to the square right on time. I would have to say, the square does look magical.<p>

The old stone ground filled with vines and the old buildings surrounding it... Well, let's just say it's my favorite part of District 9. Plus, it gets even better after the reapings. I mean, sure, it's depressing, but it really looks magical. Multicolored lights, usually bright with the moon shining, music playing...

Riley brings me back into reality by pulling roughly on my arm. I nod at her and we both move slowly over to the thirteen-year old section.

Two people walk up to the stage, I'm guessing the mentors, but I don't catch their names. Then the mayor goes on and on with his speech. Then, the overly happy man named Odgen, dances up to the stage. "Happy Hunger Games!"

I roll my eyes. He says, "Today will be the day where one very special boy and girl will be given the honor of representing their district in the 24th annual Hunger Games!"

_Yes, definitely a honor, _I think, tugging at the bottom of my dress. He goes on. "Let's find out who they are, shall we?"

He walks quickly over to the female bowl and jams his hand into it. In one swift motion, he takes it out and unfolds it.

"Sapphire Tree!" I look around, trying to find the poor soul going, but then I realize.

That's my name.

Fuzzy dots dance in front of my eyes and I struggle to stay standing. I find it difficult to breathe.

The next thing I'm aware of is the sharp pain in my left cheek. I look over to see Riley had slapped me. I should probably thank her, but now isn't the best time.

While keeping my head down, I walk swiftly up to the stage. Once I get up, I plant myself in the middle of the stage and hold my left arm.

While the escort goes on and goes to the male bowl. It takes every inch of willpower in my body not to sob, though I guess I am crying.

"Callan Lou!" Odgen screeches. I look through my spikey hair. I don't recognize him.

I still watch him though. He pales and looks about ready to make a break for it, but a sound crashes all of it. "I volunteer!"

I avert my eyes over to the voice. A teen about 15 is walking up to the stage. I don't think I've ever seen him before, but then again, I am not very social.

He steps up to the stage and Odgen asks him with a swing of his arm, "Excellent! And what would you name be, young man?"

"Ari Locus," he says, as if he was perfectly fine. Oh well, it wasn't like I was going to come out of this anyway.

"Ladies and gentlemen, the tribute of District Nine!" Odgen screams and a few claps go off in the crowd. I shake hands with Ari, and then we head to the Justice Building.

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><p>The Justice Building is nice. The velvet couch looks soft, so I plop down on it. My first visitor comes in quickly.<p>

"Saph!" Riley says. She sits down next to me and we sit in an awkward silence for about thirty seconds.

"Look, you can have a token, so take this. Please." she holds out the necklace her mother gave her before she died. I'm speechless. "Riley..."

She interrupts me. "If you press this button," she presses a button on the side and music starts to play. "that happens. My mother used to sing this to get me to go to sleep."

She waits a moment before singing along with the music.

_"The darkness holds all sorts of monsters and creeps,_  
><em>It's oh so pitch black, so dark and so deep,<em>  
><em>But when you let your eyelids sink and slip into sleep,<em>  
><em>Darkness becomes your guiding lead,<em>

_Rock back into goblins and fairies and elves,_  
><em>Witches and princes and lords a'leaping twelve,<em>  
><em>Let the darkness consume you until you're no longer yourself,<em>  
><em>Lean into hurricanes and wishes to delve.<em>

_And once your face pales and you give yourself a fright,_  
><em>You'll know it's more than the werewolves' bite,<em>  
><em>It has to be something that is to do with that Light,<em>  
><em>So fall backwards into the night"<em>

I tear up when she's done. "Than-"

I can't finish because the Peacekeepers are dragging her out. Before she finally leaves, she yells. "Good luc-"

I get the idea. Apparently, my time with Riley was longer than I thought and I have to leave for the train. I get out just in time to see Ari standing on a platform waiting. I stand next to him until the train comes up.

Ari boards quickly, and I hesitate a moment. Then, I wipe a stray tear off my face and board the train.

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><p><strong>Ari Locus by nightfuries<strong>

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><p><em>"I'm not afraid of death. It's the stake one puts up in order to play the game of life."<em>

_-Jean Giraudoux_

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><p>"Ari . . . Ari . . ."<p>

I groan, trying to block out the increasingly annoying voice. It can't be time to get up yet.

"Ari! Wake up, you're the only one still sleeping."

I sigh. _Guess that's all the sleep I'm getting_, I think, rolling over and coming face to face with a tousled mane of red hair. Hands reach up to brush it out of the way and the amber eyes of 15 year-old Webb Furmish come into view.

"What?" I say irritably, rubbing sleep out of my eyes.

"Forget what today is already, son?" I turn to see my dad grinning at me from the corner of the room. Everyone else is laughing at me too.

Today, today . . . oh, reaping day. I mentally slap myself. How could I have forgotten? Now Webb waking me makes sense. Normally we're awakened by the lovely sound of the guards tapping they're batons on the bars of our cell.

I look around at my home, the District Nine Jailhouse; population seven, if you don't count all the Peacekeepers roaming around. It's funny, the day of the reapings also marks the anniversary that my dad and I were arrested. We've been in here for a year as of today.

You wouldn't think any of us were criminals if you saw us. Any of the really bad criminals, thieves and the like, are shot immediately, leaving only those of us who seem more like the weak, underfed people who sit in alleyways begging for money. Which is what most of us are.

Not my dad and I though. Actually, when you look at it, we're lucky to have just been imprisoned. Instead of choosing the jobs typical of our district, which is in charge of creating muttations for the Capitol, my dad decided to be a bit of a con artist, and yes, occasionally a thief. But a good one. I've tagged along on a couple of his "jobs" but normally all I'd do is keep watch. I haven't really mastered the whole "keep quiet" concept yet. Ironically, we weren't arrested for theft; last year my dad wanted to spend the day of the reapings to plan one of his bigger jobs. I skipped it to help him, since I never liked going to the reapings anyways. All it is is a lot of standing around waiting, than watching some ridiculous Capitol man, who never stops smiling, draw two names out of a hat, and then watching two, usually crying, kids mounting the stage. If you ask me it's a big, depressing waste of time. Unfortunately, reapings are mandatory to attend, and the only excuse you have to not be there is if you're on death's door. The Peacekeepers came around to check if that was the case, and found us sitting by the edges of town, alive and well. Needless to say, we were arrested.

Caia, Webb's twin sister, gives a snort of laughter nearby, bringing me back to the present. "Alright, yes, I'm hilarious." I roll my eyes and stand up. "Did I miss breakfast?"

"Just in time," my dad says, pointing to the door, which opens to reveal more white-clad Peacekeepers carrying a big tray with a loaf of bread and a pitcher of water. That's all we get, twice a day. Once in a while we get a bit of fruit or a tiny piece of meat, just so we don't die of malnutrition. Aren't they thoughtful?

One of them unhooks a set of keys from his belt and uses them to unlock a tiny hatch and the bottom of the door to the cell. He slides the tray in and Paz, the oldest person here, with white tufts of hair sticking out of his head and ears, takes the bread and starts distributing it. I grab my piece and start chowing down just as more Peacekeepers file in. They wait until we finish eating than unlock the actual cell door to let us out.

"It's reaping day," Webb explains quietly as we shuffle out, noting my confused expression. "We get new clothes and clean up a bit. Got to look nice for the cameras." He rolls his eyes and I agree. We still have to go to the reapings? Great. But I'm wondering, does that mean we're still eligible for the Hunger Games?

We follow the Peacekeepers as they lead us to two different rooms. Caia and a middle-aged woman named Ione are guided through one while all of us boys are shoved into another. Inside are some new clothes and wash buckets, though judging by the murky colour of the water I'm doubting they'll help clean us up much.

I'm handed a simple black T-shirt and pants and head to a little portion of the room that's blocked off with a curtain. At least they had the decency to make sure we could change in private. I slip them on quickly and splash a bit of water on my face unenthusiastically, feeling like I'm actually getting more grime on me than what's washing off.

Once everyone's done they heard us out the door where we find the girls and yet more Peacekeepers, these ones holding guns. They keep us in a tight circle and herd us towards the door. It opens, and I have to close my eyes as pure light races into the dark building. I haven't seen the sun in ages. One of the Peacekeepers shoves me forwards and I hurriedly follow the group as we step outside for the first time in a year.

We're marched through town quickly, given nervous stares by other members of District Nine heading to the reapings. I try to ignore them, focusing instead on the warm feeling of the sun's heat beating down on my face. I'd almost forgotten what it felt like.

I can hear the murmuring of the huge crowd even before it comes into view. We're quite a well-populated district, and though the reaping takes place in the square, plenty of people are already lining up in the surrounding streets. Webb, Caia and I are ushered forwards by five of the Peacekeepers while everyone else remains where they are. We push through the crowd until we're at the edges of the square, close to where all the children of our district are grouped according to their different ages. Huh, I guess we are still available for the reapings.

Some of the kids nearest us are glancing worriedly at us, as though afraid we're going to suddenly go crazy and start killing people. Again I try to ignore them, distracting myself by thinking about the reapings and which poor suckers will get picked this year. District Nine is not known for winning; we've only had two victors in the past 23 games. I can see them up onstage now, along with the mayor, who's gesturing for everyone to quiet down so he can begin his speech.

I tune him out, not caring to hear again about the Dark Days, the rebellion, the blowing up of District 13, and the beginning of the Hunger Games. Then he introduces our escort, the ever-enthusiastic Ogden Reeves, who bounces up to the stage with a "Happy Hunger Games!"

"Today will be the day where one very special boy and girl will be given the honour of representing their district in the 24th annual Hunger Games!" he trills. "Let's find out who they are, shall we?" He struts over to the glass ball containing all the girls' names and swiftly plunges his hand into the pile. He grabs a slip, showing it all to us, before reading the name out in his accented, Capitol voice. "Sapphire Tree!" he calls out. I look around, trying to see which kid it is, but no one moves. A sound echoes through the silent square, something that might have been a slap, and then a little brunette girl from the 13 year-olds' section slowly makes her way to the stage. She stands there silently, hiding her head, but I can tell by the shake in her shoulders that she's probably crying. Poor kid. Her life will probably end soon. But I guess I'm one to talk; it's not exactly like my life's going anywhere at the moment. I frown, that thought still bouncing around in my head.

Ogden moves on swiftly, traipsing over to the orb with the boys' names, and withdraws a sheet of paper. "Callan Lou!" he calls out. Again, no one moves, but I can see a blonde-haired boy near me in the fifteen-year old group pale considerably. I realise that I recognize him. We were in the same class, back when I still went to school. He was a nice kid, and everyone liked him for it. I watch as one of the Peacekeepers starts shoving through the crowd, heading over to him. Callan takes a step backwards as though he's going to bolt and run into the streets.

I step forwards and shout, "I volunteer!" Everyone turns to look at me, while my brain still attempts to process what I just did. _I volunteered? Why the heck would I do that?_ But then one part of my brain catches up to the other and I realise what I was subconsciously thinking. My life isn't going anywhere; I'm facing a lifetime in that dank, tiny cell. I don't know if I can go back in there after finally seeing the sun and breathing fresh air again. I swallow hard, aware that Webb and Caia are looking at me like I've gone absolutely nuts, and start heading to the stage. One of the Peacekeepers guarding us steps forwards, as though to stop me, but you can tell he's confused. No one's sure if criminals are actually allowed to volunteer for the games, and the Peacekeepers are all looking at each other as if one of them knows the answer. I don't hesitate, just keep walking. I reach the stage and see Ogden gaping at me too. Apparently nobody knows the rules around here. But he quickly recovers and gives me a grin.

"Excellent! And what would you name be, young man?"

I swallow again, aware that my throat has gone extremely dry. My brain's still fighting with itself. _You'll never get another chance to escape! Yeah, if by escape you mean die! _"Ari Locus," I manage to say, and he repeats it louder for everyone to hear. I go to stand by the girl tribute, Sapphire, and clench my hands behind my back, glancing at all the cameras recording the events. My dad would be watching this on a screen they've got set up in the streets; what's he think of my idiotic move?

"Ladies and gentlemen, the tribute of District Nine!" Ogden shouts to the crowd, earning a few half-hearted claps in return. I shake hands with Sapphire, and then stand back as the anthem plays, using the time to sort out my brain.

Yes, I may die. I probably will die. But is that any worse than spending my life in a cell, only getting to see the outside world once a year? Maybe to some people it is, but I figure being locked up is essentially like dying, in a way. I'm crazy, no question about it, but I think I made the right choice.

Then anthem ends and the Peacekeepers whisk us off to the Justice Building. It's still in relatively good shape, though the white paint that used to cover it is peeling off, revealing the wood underneath. I'm directed to a small room with a couch and told to wait there. This is where any of my friends or family members are allowed to say one last, final goodbye.

Oh gosh. I didn't even think about my dad. What if they don't let him in? Do they let criminals in? What if I never get to see him again, never get to explain why I volunteered? Even if I get to see him, it'll probably be for the last time. How could I now have thought of him? Sure, if I hadn't volunteered I'd be stuck in a gloomy cell for the rest of my life, but at least I'd have my dad. What was I thinking?

My frantic thoughts are interrupted as the door opens. I'm relieved to see my dad come in, along with Webb and Caia. At least they were allowed to see me. The twins plop onto the couch next to me while my dad stands facing me. No one says anything. I try to read my dad's face, but part of being a thief is being able to keep a straight face and not show any emotion.

The silence is really getting to me now, and I start fidgeting with my hands. Are they mad? I open my mouth to say something, but Webb beats me to it.

"So," he begins. "We figure you're crazy. But in a good way." I give him a look and he grins slightly. "Win for us, okay?"

"Got it," I say. He nods, looking like he wants to say more, but his sister stands and pulls him to his feet.

"Good luck, Ari," she whispers, and they leave, to give me some time alone with my dad. He's still looking at me with his unreadable face, and it's starting to make me nervous.

"Look, dad," I start to say, but he cuts me off.

"I'm proud of you Ari."

"What?" Whatever I'd been expecting him to say, that was _not _it. He sits down next to me and puts his hands on my shoulders.

"I'm proud of you. You saw an exit, and you took it. It's like I always say . . ."

"Find another option," I finish for him. I've heard him say it thousands of times, especially when I'd think we were about to get caught. I'd tell him and he'd always look at me and say "Find another option," and we'd always manage to get away.

"Just remember that in the arena," he tells me. "There's always another option."

"Right." I nod. We're both silent for a little while, and I'm contemplating whether it's worth it to break down and cry right now. This might be the last time I see my dad, ever. Odds are I'd be dead in a few days. But I take a deep breath and calm down. Another thing my dad always says is "never think about the consequences." I used to always be worried we'd get arrested, or killed, but he told me that a good thief focuses on the task at hand, and worries about what might happen when it happens. I just have to remember that.

A Peacekeeper comes through the door, signalling that my time with my dad is up. I give him a hug, and then the Peacekeeper's tugging him off and escorting him to the door.

"When you win, bail me out, will you?" My dad calls back to me.

I grin. "I will!"

"Good! Don't make me wait too long!" That's the last thing I hear before the door closes. I'm glad he can still joke like this. It helps me. All I have to do is just not think about the consequences.

I look at the Peacekeepers standing by the door, waiting for them to take me to the train. But they're still standing there, as though they're waiting for more people. But I don't have anyone else to say goodbye to, do I?" I'm just wondering about it when the door opens and a boy walks in. It's Callan Lou, the boy I volunteered for. He walks over to me and stops. I wait, but he doesn't say anything. We just stand there as the silence gets heavier and heavier. I'm starting to fidget again when he speaks.

"Thanks," he blurts out. "For . . . yeah."

"You're welcome," I say slowly. I don't remember him being this awkward. Then again, what do you say to a criminal who saves your life?

We stand there for a bit more, and he opens his mouth again, but stops. I figure he'll just wish me luck and leave, but he seems to be struggling to find the words to say. Then I realise, he probably knows the girl tribute a lot better than me. Even if he doesn't know her, he's probably seen her around. She's a cute little 13 year-old, and I'm the criminal who's supposed to be in jail; who would you want to win the Hunger Games?

"Thanks," he manages to say again, then turns and walks out. That seems to be all my visitors, because now the Peacekeepers move from their position by the door and usher me out the exit, where I find myself standing on a platform with Sapphire and about a thousand cameras. The train doors open and I take a deep breath, then enter it, leaving my district behind.


	10. District Ten Reapings

**A/N: ***sighs* How many more of these districts are there? Couldn't the Capitol have settled for eight and just leave it like that? Anyway, district ten – the land where they wear cow print. Come on, you know you want to support them. But before you do anything you have to do a special favour for me and all of the other 24 authors here who have been writing for your enjoyment *cackles manically*. You have to do something for us... heh heh heh! All we ask is you type "nyanit . com /" (without the spaces) in front of the "fanfiction" bit of your URL... and then try and read the chapter like that. We will also be joining you, and in your review say if you succeeded to read the chapter in nyanit view or not. That's all we ask, nothing more, nothing less... MWAHAHAHA! So anyway, aside from evil plans, these reapings were written for you to enjoy by… the concoctive Cottoncandychoctop (try saying that five times faster! D10 female) and the bubbly packman23 (D10 male)!

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><p><strong>Aleah Armani by Cottoncandychoctop<strong>

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><p>'<em>An insincere and evil friend is more to be feared than a wild beast; a wild beast may wound your body, but an evil friend will wound your mind.'<em>

-Buddha

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><p>I wake up, literally with a bang. Well I guess if you wanted to get all technical I woke with a 'smash' but either way, it wasn't exactly the way one hopes to be woken from a relatively peaceful slumber and it doesn't exactly start me off in a good mood. Here I am, minding my own business, sleeping as sound as anyone could aim to on the eve of a reaping and my pinhead older sister decides to, literally, start throwing things around the house. Welcome to my life.<p>

"Talia, clean that up this instant," my mother shrieks from the hallway, her voice as annoyingly shrill as normal.

"No," comes the reply from my perfect socialite sister, "Mom, Yianna can_not_ have my ring to wear for the reapings! Grandmother left it to _me_."

"Oh shush you know full well it looks better on her than it does on you and anyway that is no reason to shatter a perfectly good bowl."

"How dare you! How _dare_ you offer my jewellery to my baby sister without my consent!"

I roll over and attempt to cling to the drowsiness that is still enveloping me but this pathetic argument going on between Talia and my mother ceases to end, despite my father's attempt to get them both to calm down. Nope, with the two of them going on like this I have no chance of getting back to sleep. I reluctantly force myself out of bed, throwing my blankets onto the floor in a rage and storm out into the hall.

"Would you two _shut up_!" I yell at the two of them, barely noticing the shards of the broken bowl scattered across the floor, "It is a ring. If the two of you could get over your petty, trivial little dramas you might notice that there are people trying to sleep here."

"Mind your own business Aleah," Talia snaps at me before turning back to our mother and resuming the argument. In a quiet fury I make my way back to my room where I slam the door loud enough to wake Yianna in the room next door, who had miraculously slept through entire argument. Normally yelling isn't my thing, I'm more of a subtle, snide comments kind of girl myself but hey, give me a break, it's 6:30am, you would probably all do the same thing.

Apparently Talia and my mother had settled things out between them because they we're perfectly chummy once again by the time I sit down next to Sean at the table.

'Morning sunshine," he says with a bright smile as I reach across the table to grab a piece of bread.

I turn and glare at him but Sean, who knows I could never truly be mad at him, simply laughs at me.

"Have you herded the flock yet?" I ask despite the mouthful of bread I am currently chewing on.

"Nup. But I did hay the horses and I called the abattoir."

I am about to give my twin a hard time for slacking off when my father decides to actually open his mouth for the first time this morning.

"So Sean," he says, his smile for my brother alone, "You're all ready for the reaping."

Sean rolls his eyes at me as he bluntly replies, "Yes father."

"And you've finished all the work in the paddocks?"

"All my work, yes."

"And you made contact with the abattoir?"

"Yes dad."

"That's my boy," our father says as he leans over to clap Sean on the back, which causes Sean to blush. It is very well known in the house, well I'm the only one who admits it, that Sean is unquestionably our father's favourite. With three daughters and an extremely shrill and overbearing wife it's easy to see why he cherishes his only son so much. To him, the rest of us might as well not be here.

"Oh Yianna, you don't have to work today because I want to make sure you look you're absolute best for the reaping today," my mother adds with a delighted clap, admiring the prospect of dolling up her baby daughter.

Yianna doesn't say anything, well she can't since she is eagerly stuffing her face with her significantly bigger portion of food. I am also never one to deny that my twelve year old sister is undoubtedly my mother's favourite, nor will I deny that after years if being fussed over and spoilt rotten she has turned into a stubborn, chubby little piece of work. Of course my mother would never agree with me on this matter, to her Yianna is a perfect little princess. Ha. Ha. Ha. Yeah and pigs can fly.

"I won't have time to work today either mom," Talia insists whilst combing her long chocolate brown hair, "I still have to resew the seam of my white skirt."

"That's fine dear."

"Great, so I'll be doing both of your jobs then will I?" I question with as much hostility as I can muster up, "God forbid either of you have a hair out of place on reaping day. By all means neither one of you move a muscle, you're willing slave is here to help."

No one even acknowledges that I have said anything, not even Sean who is being smothered by my father, everyone too busy with their own menial little tasks. I'm kind of used to it by now; I learnt a long time ago that I was completely invisible in this family. I glare down at every one of them; this day just seems to be getting worse by the minute.

It takes me at least three hours to do all of the work allocated to me in the morning but in all honesty I am simply glad to be rid of my family for that period of time. Hopeless, the lot of them, except for Sean of course, mind you, even he can be painfully cheerful and bubbly at times. Unlike my pathetic sisters who require the entire morning to get dressed I simply walk into my room, slap on a short light blue hand-me-down dress that Talia grew out of and quickly check myself over in the mirror. Talia would probably die knowing that people knew we were related. Good. My long dark hair hangs in loose, knotted, uneven curls down my back and the dress is probably a tad too short. Can you blame me, I've grown almost three inches since getting this dress, now I'm about 5 foot 8ish and I've often heard people say I'm scarily thin. It's not my fault; it's hard to get a decent meal when you're the invisible fourth child. My pale skin still looks chalky and my sapphire blue eyes stare back at me, looking displaced against my white skin and dark hair. I'm still the same, the same high cheekbones, same strong jaw line, and this is how I want to stay. No point trying to turn into someone I'm not for the reapings, if I get reaped it's going to be me who's screwed, not anyone else I pretend to be.

"Talia, Yianna, Aleah," my mother wails from outside, "You're going to be late. The three of you get going I'll catch up with you."

Brilliant. I have a half an hour walk ahead of me and I have to spend it with my sisters.

The three of us walk down the dirt road path that leads from our dingy little farm into the 'town' of district ten. I say 'town' because in reality that is a grand overstatement for the crappy little set up. The town basically consists of the school, the justice building, the square and any day to day kind of shops like the bakery or the seamstress. Most of us, my family included, live out in the paddocks, complete with big open expanses of crappy land with dry, dusty soil and livestock galore. Hence, the dark, dingy town itself is covered with thick red dust most of the time from all the movement of stock and such. The abattoir and the labs are further west, you know, so nobody has to wake to the sound of cattle being slaughtered.

Once we finally reach the damn town and are about five minutes out a short, bulky looking boy emerges from beside us and quickly taps my sister on the back.

"Hey Talia," he says with a pathetic sheepish grin and an extremely obvious blush crossing his cheeks, "How are you feeling?"

My sister smiles at him radiantly and batts her eyelids at him. Insert gagging noises here, "Oh I'm fine Wendell, a little nervous but I guess that's to be expected, "she adds with a charming little laugh, which I of course mimic, "What about you?"

"I'm nervous too." It is well known within town that my perfect older sister is a self confessed socialite and that she is highly 'desired' by the local boys. Of course in my opinion she's a superficial, materialistic troll with no self dignity whatsoever but hey, call it a difference of opinions. Because of our differences, Talia and I don't exactly have the best relationship, in fact we rarely talk at all, and when we do it normally ends up with her running off in tears. I guess I just have that affect on people.

"Oh see Talia," I butt in with mock sincerity, "I _told_ you his name was Wendell. And you thought it was Keenan," I chide, taking immense pleasure in the shock on her face, "but of course then I reminded you that Keenan was that boy I caught you making out within the stalls last week. And as soon as you described Wendell here as that short, pudgy boy with the terrible breath I remembered his name for you. " Of course Talia had never met anyone called Keenan and she had never even mentioned Wendell to me before, let alone insulted him, but anything to piss Talia off and scare away Wendell.

Wendell looks over at me and immediately I see that fear in his eyes that I am so used to. Unlike my siblings, who all have faultless reputations, I am known around town as a cold, malicious, harsh young girl with little compassion, a love of sarcastic insults and an extremely sharp tongue. Of course this leads to people becoming incredibly scared of me, which in all honestly just makes things so much easier. Wendell looks back at Talia with an extremely embarrassed look on his face before he scurries away like the coward he is. I turn back around and laugh at Talia's fury and before she can even mouth a word of protest I walk away, making sure to enjoy every single step.

When the three of us reach the square Yianna starts whimpering next to me and I groan and try to shut her up. This is her first year eligible to be reaped and she is completely unprepared to deal with it.

"Oh quit whining," I snap at her, "It's not like you'll get reaped anyway."

Yianna's name was in that big glass bowl on the stage once and once only, unlike mine which was in there countless times. My mother had refused to let Yianna sign up for tesserae, in fact she was so opposed to idea that she went and signed _me _up for extra tesserae on Yianna's behalf, despite the fact that I was already on five lots, one for myself, my mother, my father, Sean (because I wouldn't let him sign up) and Talia (because she refused to sign up so once again I was forced to take her load).

It is almost time for the official ceremony to begin and as soon as I am herded into the sixteen year old area I am met with scared glances and people slowly shying away from me, to which I respond with a calm and confident grin as I ignore what the mayor is talking about. On the stage with him are two other people, the first I know is Heath Greyling, District Ten's only current victor. He won about fifteen years ago and it well known around the district that he won on sheer dumb luck, which of course means I have absolutely no respect for him, despite never actually meeting him. Lucky is _exactly_ the quality you look for in a mentor. The other is a young woman, quite obviously from the capitol, with short spiked black hair, dressed all in black and at least a dozen piercings on her face alone. She stands behind the mayor beaming out at everyone around her and I immediately dislike her.

Eventually the mayor finishes his droll speech about the history of Panem and the freaky capitol chick walks up the microphone, teetering a little in her seven inch heels.

"Hello District Ten," she says with excess enthusiasm, "My name is Esserenda and it is my privilege to be choosing one lucky young man and woman to receive the honour of competing in the 24th Hunger Games." She begins a round of applause that dies quickly and I let out a laugh at how pitiable she is, ignoring the looks I get for it, "So let's get started shall we."

The crowd goes silent around me as all the girls hold their breaths. Esserenda makes a dramatic production of searching around the glass bowl before pulling out one small slip of paper.

"Aleah Armani."

Esserenda's high pitched voice seems to echo throughout the crowd, a single name hovering in the air. My name. The whispers and murmurs of the kids around me turn into a dissonant cacophony as they all look around, waiting for the doomed child to show herself. But I can't. Despite all the protest my brain is giving my body, telling me to move, to start walking, to do something, my muscles are failing me. I have been prepared for the possibility of this happening since I was twelve years old, I have planned exactly how I would react, what my next step would be, but now that it is actually happening I have turned into a statue.

The crowd starts to part in front of me, a few of my former classmates looking at me with pitying glances, others couldn't quite hide their pleasure at hearing my name being called. I imagine that deep down that's how most of the citizens of district ten feel, glad that it was only the harsh, strange, rude Armani girl who got called, it's not like anyone cares about her. I quickly hold my head up high and start towards the stage.

"No," I hear Sean call from beside me and before I know it he has forced himself in between me and the oncoming peacekeepers, holding onto my wrist in an iron tight grip, "Don't you dare touch her."

That idiot. The last thing I need is for him to be all noble and get himself killed just as I am about to go fight in the Hunger Games. I step around him and quickly pull my wrist out from his grasp.

"Sean," I spit through my closed teeth, 'Let. Me. Go."

He turns back around and looks into my eyes, and I give him a small reassuring nod. He looks at me doubtfully before bowing his head and backing away so the peacekeepers can come escort me up to the stage.

As the rest of the district looks at me with sympathy and condolences I hold my head up high, looking down on any who pity me with an icy glare, daring them to think that I am a weakling. Anyone who meets my gaze shrinks back like they always do and the feeling of fear only adds to my feeling of confidence. The escort smiles at me and I silence her with a look that could kill.

She teeters over to the boys bowl and replicates her actions from before and once again pulls out a name.

"Boston Williams."

I fix my face in an already unsatisfied look, even though the tribute hasn't made himself known. I am determined to hate him regardless of who he is and what he acts like. Eventually I see movement coming from the seventeen year old section and a big, bulky, tanned guy starts making his way up to the stage. As he gets closer I can see that he has a stupid, blank look on his face but his dark blue eyes show how freaked out he really is and like an idiot he can't seem to stop shaking. God, there has to be something wrong with him, he looks bloody deranged. Just. My. Luck.

The big ape stumbles his way up to the stage and we are instantly congratulated before we are forced to shake hands. I glower at him as he looks at me and he immediately averts his gaze. We shake hands and his huge clammy hands absolutely crushes mine. Stupid giant buffoon. Before I know it I am being rushed into the justice building to say my goodbyes.

"Don't any of you_ dare_ come in here," I spit at my family as they all attempt to squeeze through the door, "It's not like I would even be in this mess if it wasn't for the four of you. Don't start acting like you actually give a crap about me now. Leave me and Sean alone and just leave and be glad you're finally rid of me."

My mother looks hurt but in all honesty I couldn't give a damn. They should feel guilty; it was the four of them that made me sign up for all that extra tesserae. Hopefully when I die they'll all realise that they were the ones who killed me. Or even better when I win and come back I'll never have to see them again and I can finally turn the tables and be the one pretending none of them exist. The peacekeepers quickly escort them back out the door and with a satisfying thud they are all out of my lives for good. Sean looks at me like he's disappointed in me but truthfully he is the only person I want to say goodbye to.

"You have to be smart," he reminds me, "Don't just fall into lapse with all the other kids. Don't rely on any physical strength you have, because, well, you don't have any. But you've got twice the brains of anybody else, so bloody well use them."

"Thanks for that brainiac," I say coldly, whilst rolling my eyes, "I couldn't have figured that much out for myself."

"And be nice. Make people like you, then they'll want to sponsor you."

I snort, "Yeah right, like that will happen."

He ignores me, "But don't let yourself become too much of a threat."

"No sir," I add mockingly, smiling at him.

"And listen to whatever your mentors or stylists say to you."

"Yes sir."

He pulls me into a quick hug, "And don't you dare die on me. We're like two halves of a whole; I won't be able to function properly if you're not here."

I laugh, "We're fraternal twins you dimwit. We're not two halves of a whole; we're just two wholes who go the misfortune of sharing a womb. Unless you're finally willing to confirm my suspicions and admit you're a girl?"

He hit me on the arm playfully and I am just about to lash into another round of insults when the peacekeepers brake through the door. They ignore Sean's protests and begin to pull him out of the room whilst he struggles in their grasps.

"Don't worry Sean," I say in an even voice, "I'll be back before you even knew I was gone."

And with that the peacekeepers shove him out the door before slamming it in my face.

The trip from the justice building to the train seems to pass in a blur of speeding cars and flashing cameras and before I know it I'm stuck all alone in a train compartment with what's his face, something beginning with a B. Boron...Bossy...Boston that was it. Heath and Esserenda are nowhere to be seen and I quickly try to make an escape.

"You're Aleah right?" Boston asks with a stupid look on his face. Screw what Sean said, truth is, I don't do nice.

"Look I'm going to make this really easy for you," I say in a patronising tone, "I've known you all of five minutes and I can tell I'm not going to like you, and I can _promise _you, you won't like me. So stay out of my way, and I won't have to kill you," and with that I turn away and don't even give Boston a second glance to hear whatever dim witted response he can come up with.

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><p><strong>Boston Williams by packman23<strong>

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><p><em>"The evil like power, power over people, and they want to see you in fear. They want you to know you're going to die. So they'll talk. They'll gloat. They'll watch you squirm. They'll put off the moment of murder like another man will put off a good cigar. So hope like hell your captor is an evil man. A good man will kill you with hardly a word" <em>

_- Samuel Vimes, Men At Arms._

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><p>Have you ever noticed how, no matter how hard you try to be good and nice and all of that, it never works out? How, no matter how much you deserve something good, just for once in your life, all the world seems to want to do is hold you down and kick you in the face?<p>

Like now for instance. Down in the Capitol, kids just like me are just waking up, slipping off comfy sheets and saying good morning to their parents. I've been up since one in the morning and even when I was asleep I was sleeping on hay, not mattresses in a comfortable bed! Heck, I don't even have a dad! What did I do to deserve being born in a District? What did they do to be allowed to be born Capitolites? I guess I'll never know.

I wince as another ache forces its way through my legs and I quickly cease my pondering, turning my mind back to the matter at hand. Walking. We live on a farm on the very outskirts of the District, so it's miles until we reach the Mayor's office, where the Reapings are always held. The whole farm's been walking since three. There are quite a lot of us, forty five I'd guess and, as we walk, we block the entire dirt track, kicking up great clouds of dust all around us. I look around, trying to spot anyone who might be interesting. I haven't talked to anyone in hours and, even though that's not that big a problem for me, it still bugs me. Mr Roan, the head of the farm, is walking near the front, arm in arm with his wife, chatting, far too loudly I might add, about the joys of rearing and selling cattle. I heave a sigh, I might've known, all Roan ever talks about is work, and since this is the one day in year I can get away from my job breaking cattle, I'd rather not be talking about that. The rest of the workers are either too terrified by the thought of their kids being Reaped to talk, or just aren't my kind of people, being too talkative or jovial for my liking. Which just leaves my family. There's mom, dressed in a gaudy purple dress that's rather too skimpy for my liking and wearing far too much makeup. She looks nervous, constantly ringing her hands and riffling through old bank notes every few minutes. To be honest I don't blame her that much for feeling like she does, she always has trouble in the centre of the District. Guys heckle her and the like. They always stop the moment they cast eyes on me though. No one wants to insult a woman when she's got a kid twice your size, doesn't matter how much of a sleazebag you are. This year, if anyone tries to make a pass at my mom I'll tear off their mouth. My mom's got enough on her plate as it is without some jerks ruining her day. She's got six kids for God's sake, two of whom are old enough to get Reaped, me and my little sister, Vienna (My mom has a thing for History and named us all after old cities). It's Vienna's second Reapings and she's still not used to it. She keeps trying to make me think she's okay, but she's obviously not, drifting near the back of our little precession and kicking the dust. I've tried talking to her about it, but she won't admit she's scared, so I guess there's nothing I can do. The rest of my siblings aren't old enough to get Reaped, but some of them aren't far off. First there's Washington, who's about ten. Despite being related, that kid looks absolutely nothing like me or Vienna. We're both tall, tanned and dark haired, but Washington's blond and tiny. In fact I think the only way that that bubbly kid who's running around near the front of the procession is in any way related to me is the fact we have the same eyes. Then there are London, or Lon, and Sam, who are about five and three respectively. Neither of them are awake yet, I'm carrying Lon on my back and mom's carrying Sam. It's backbreaking work carrying a kid, especially when you've been doing it for several hours. Even worse, Lon is really starting to fidget, which hurts like hell. At times I really just want to swing the kid off and tell him to walk by himself, but then he'd whine and I don't think I could take that. Finally, walking right next to me, we have Dallas, who's about half my age and less than a quarter my height. He's a sweet kid, with curly ginger hair and hazel eyes. He knows not to talk in serious situations, which is good, since I'm not normally a talker, but gets boring eventually. I really just need someone to say something to me. Back when I was little I would talk to dad and he'd tell me about the Capitol and the history of the Games, before I understood what they were, and then we'd be herded into the square and spend the morning laughing at the Escort's silly clothes and the evening playing, so that dad would have an excuse not to watch the TV. That all changed five years back, when mom was pregnant with Lon. There was this stampede thing, loads of guys got trampled, one of them was my dad. It was bad, and I remember Vienna crying about it for days on end, asking where dad had gone and stuff. I wasn't allowed to cry. No one told me I couldn't, I just sort of decided. I couldn't cry. I had to work. After all, mom couldn't keep a family with just her job in town, so I had to get a promotion to keep us all in bread and meat. I tossed and turned every night, trying to deal with the death, the stress of work, my sister's tears. In the end I just bottled it all up, took all those emotions and shoved them down into my guts. Kept every bad thought, every negative feeling I got and sucked it up. I became my father. I looked after the others, laughed when they wanted me to, listened when they were upset. It was nice for a while, but it was hollow. Everything just got too much, and I couldn't really laugh any more. It made me feel sick. So I stopped laughing, just like I stopped crying, and now, I think I just don't feel anything anymore.

"Hey, Boston?" I look down and spot Washington staring up at me through sparkling blue eyes. It's odd for him to talk to me. He normally picks Vienna because she's good with jokes. I smile slightly and reach down, my stomach spinning and screaming as all those unwanted feeling bubble up inside me, threatening to blow me into shards for about the seventh time this morning. I gulp as voices knot themselves around my head, telling me to cry or scream at the sky or feel pity or something, anything, that actually resembles emotion. I can't though, it's just too hard.

"Yes Washington?" I murmur, my voice monotone.

"Do you think Vienna's OK?" The boy asks. I shrug. I don't want to get into this, I've already tried with Vienna. She's not letting me in and I'm unable to tell why she feels so horrible. Is it guilt? Bad memories? The fear of being Reaped? I'd guess it's the latter but I really don't know how to deal with that sort of thing, even if I am right. "You gonna ask her?"

"She's tired." I mutter, "or nervous."

"'Bout being Reaped?" This time it's Dallas who's talking, and I have to say that's a surprise. Like I said before, he's really not that talkative, so hearing him say anything, especially on Reaping day, is kind of unexpected.

"Probably." I tell the two kids, and they nod sympathetically, but I can tell they don't get it. Why should they? They've never known anyone who got Reaped, a fact I'm glad of. Then again, I don't know what it's like to feel the pain of Reaping day either. For me Reaping is just another day, albeit one where every kid in all the Districts feel horrible. "She really doesn't have that much to worry about. She's only got, what?"

"Twenty slips?" Washington guesses.

"More like thirteen." Dallas reminds him, "Boston's the one with the most tesserae." I nod weakly. It's not as bad as it sounds, I guess, after all loads of kids in District Ten have lots of tesserae. I just have a couple more than average for a working guy, that's all.

I don't really say much more on the matter, but the kids keep yammering, and Lon joins in when he wakes up. By the time we draw near the square I'm surrounded by a gaggle of voices, all of them nervously guessing the chances of Vienna being Reaped, which I have to say I don't like. The moment we arrive inside the town I swing Lon off my shoulders, push him over to mom and silently wave her off as she kisses me and drags Lon, Sam and Washington away.

"Good luck." I mutter to Vienna. She smiles weakly and finds her place in the thirteen's section. She's worried. I hope she'll be OK. I find my spot with ease, shoving my way through the crowd and shuffling as close to the middle as I can. I settle down for a minute, waiting as the other teenagers fill in around me, their faces haunted by fear, either for themselves or their families. I'm glad my face doesn't show any of that, only my eyes give any allusion of the worry I'm sick of, so I make sure to keep them as hidden by hair as possible. Unfortunately, this makes seeing difficult, so I don't notice the child who shouldn't be in the crowd until it's too late.

"Boston?" Dallas whispers to me, causing me, and the entire crowd of seventeen year olds, to jump about a foot in the air, "Are sure Vienna won't get Reaped?" I think about that for a second. Of course I'm not sure. I don't have a clue how likely it is that Vienna's name will be picked out and she'll have to tramp up to that stage over there, knowing that she'll be dead in a matter of days.

"I'm sure." I say, ruffling his hair and doing the best I can to sound anything but slightly queasy, "Now get back to mom."

"But I want to stand with you!" Dallas exclaims, and the other teens cringe. If a Peacekeeper were to hear him we'd all get whipped for disobedience. I'd rather not go through that, and I'm sure the feeling's mutual. "Mom's boring! She says we aren't allowed to speak!"

"And we're not." I hiss, my voice flat, "Now quiet."

Up on stage a gong rings, cutting off the clammering crowds and forcing them to be a bit quieter. The mayor gets up, dressed in an old white suit and says a few words, then a few more. Then a bunch. In fact he rambles on for so long that I lose interest, instead concentrating on Heath, our District's sole Victor. He seems kinda upset, despite the forced smile. His eyes are flicking about and look tired, and he keeps focusing on his wife and kids standing as close to the stage as they're allowed. He's like me, Heath. He didn't ask to be where he was, he'd much rather just live in the Capitol like all the lucky people, but he makes the best of what he has and he forces down all the emotions that people didn't like. I remember seeing reruns of his Games. Watching him slash away at his District partner, some tiny kid, with insane ferocity, crying all the while. He'd been an orphan, tried so long to quash all of those feelings and then, eventually, they came gushing out in a torrent of anger and sorrow.

"Hello District Ten!" I wince as a spiky haired Capitolites voice bludgeons its way through the crowd and shrieks into every nerve of my body. Below me Dallas covers his ears, the woman's high pitched warble seeming to cause actual pain. The unfortunate twelve year olds, who are closest to the woman, cover their ears and screw their eyes shut. I'm fairly sure a few kids even faint. They're the lucky ones, the Escort's still speaking. She introduces herself as Esserenda, and begins rambling about how great an honour being an Escort is. I groan, another airhead, what a shame, I was hoping for an intelligent Escort for a change. She claps her hands together and makes a great deal of drawing a card out of the Reaping ball. The crowd falls silent, the girls who stand across from me holding their breath, along with anyone who is even remotely related to any of them. Near my legs, Dallas shivers in anticipation, burying his head in my trouser leg, as if shutting out the sound of the Escort will somehow make it less likely that Vienna is chosen.

"Aleah Armani." Almost all the crowd sigh with relief or give the girl apologetic looks. Personally I couldn't care less as Aleah, a pale, black haired kid drags herself out of the crowd and walks up to the stage. I've heard the name somewhere before. Some chick who's always getting into fights, daddy had enough money to pay for her education, and she thinks that gives her a right to beat on kids who come down from the farms. Personally I'd never liked the sound of her and, now she's standing up on the stage, I can tell that I wouldn't like to meet her in real life. She's got anger in her eyes and that kind of superior air that tells me she's not too sorry she's going. Besides, she's not Vienna, and that means I don't care that she's going that much. I'd miss Vienna. I don't even know this girl.

Esserenda congratulates the girl, before reaching into another Reaping ball and drawing a name. By now I'm barely paying attention, far too preoccupied by relief to care what comes next. Vienna isn't going. She's not leaving us. Vienna gets to stay and work for the family and everything will be OK. Why was I even worried in the first place?

They call a name.

It's a simple name. Not too long. Not too short. Easy to pronounce. And familiar, far too familiar.

"Boston Williams!"

The woman's shriek bowls way through the audience, smashing into me with full force and shaking the knot of emotions in my stomach into tiny little pieces. My eyes widen and I begin to shiver, forcing the emotions back down, just like I've done a thousand times before, except this time it doesn't work. The shaking increases and Dallas reaches out for me, begging me to stay. To pretend my name wasn't called. No one here knows me. No one would ever know. The emotions in my stomach rear up, wracking my frame as the boy reaches out for me. I'm a good head taller than everyone else, they all know I'm here. Hiding won't work.

I knock Dallas out the way with a sweep of my arm, trying not to do anymore harm than I can as I stumble out of the crowd taking slow, juddering steps towards the stage.

It takes all my might to suppress my fear as I mount the stairs, Esserenda becomes a shrill buzz as my ears clog with unwanted feelings. My mind breaks and reforms a thousand times in the space of a few seconds, scrambled, confused. Noises become bubbles and drift away, popping long before they reach my ears, their sound indistinct. They've sentenced me to death. Words choke up in my mouth, my vision blurs and shimmers in front of my eyes, settling on things only long enough for me to be dimly aware of them. My hand is pressed to the pale girl's by some unknown presence and we are forced to shake. How can they have called my name! They can't have called my name! I'm needed! Aleah snarls at me. Her face is so venomous, so serpentine. It disgusts me. I can't look at it. I want to tear it off with my hands and throw it on the ground. I can't think straight. My mind's breaking.

The scene changes without me noticing. There are Peacekeepers. They half drag, half lead me to a room. There's my mother, tears streaking her makeup, telling me it's all her fault, even though it can't be. Lon and Sam, unable to understand why I have to go. Washington looks as white as a sheet. I sigh and reach out for him, but the scene shifts before I can touch him, and the next thing I know he's hugging my legs, shaking with sobs. They hurry out as fast as they can. My mind spins. Shapes become colours, colours become words, words become thoughts. I grip my head, forcing it down.

Vienna and Dallas stand in front of me. My sister's eyes are red. There are tears rolling down her face. She whimpers as she reaches out to me, passing me her hair clip and letting her hair tumble down in front of her face, mingling with her tears, sticking to her cheeks. She kneels in front of me, apologises again and again, tells me she'll look after them all, she won't let me down. She tells me I'll be OK. She tells me I'll be able to see dad again. She's confused. I don't understand her mind. I don't understand mine. Dallas is blank. He's not reacting. His eyes tell me he wants to cry, but he's not. He hands me his own gift. A lock of ginger hair. He looks tired. There's a knot in his stomach, just like me. He looks nothing like me, and yet we look so similar. I don't understand. I can't understand. I hug them both close and whisper that I'll be OK. There are tears in my eyes. I think. Its been so long since I cried. Its been so long since I've felt. It hurts.

"My head's killing me." I whisper, as the world dives out of focus. Next thing I know I'm standing in front of what I think is my District partner.

"You're Aleah, right?" I groan, trying to remember her name. She rounds on me, a snarl forming on her ugly little face.

"Look I'm going to make this really easy for you. I've known you all of five minutes and I can tell I'm not going to like you, and I can promise you, you won't like me. So stay out of my way, and I won't have to kill you."

I want to kill her. A few stray emotions still wash around my body, but they've mostly paled, cleared away back into that knot in my stomach. I can think again. I rummage through my pockets, removing a hair clip with a chunk of curly ginger hair slipped into it. I nod slowly, at least I know I wasn't hallucinating. I sigh, taking a step forwards, towards the girl who is stomping away from me. I reach out behind her, fingers twitching. Her neck is thin, delicate. Too delicate for such a viper. I growl and begin to pull my hands in. Something hits them, knocking them away from that monster even as they're about to close around her neck.

"Let it go kid." the mentor with the fake grin says, his voice more of a sigh than anything else, "Save that stuff for the Arena. Believe me you'll be better for it.

I stare at Heath and I find myself looking into the eyes of someone who understands my plight. The hardship of always having to hide how you feel, of having to keep it all bundled up in your chest, roaring to be free. He tried it. He tried it for eighteen years and then, on the first night of the Games, he cracked.

I haven't cracked yet, but I'm creaking and bending and splintering.

And I can already feel the cracks beginning to form.


	11. District Eleven Reapings

**A/N: **The penultimate reaping here, from the penultimate district! Think of poor little Rue and I'm sure you'll start crying… come on… So anyway, agriculture, I bet they have fun with that. Picking apples, trying not to eat the apples, growing apples, picking those aforementioned apples. Yeah, not repetitive _at all_! And if Ryk comes this way we'll all be doomed (_Death Note reference_)... And thanks to all who humoured us and was confronted with all those nyan cats last time! Apparently you can get voldemort nyan cats, but unfortunately I don't know how *sniffles* So this penultimate reaping is brought to you by… the horrendous zxskunkmuffinxz (D11 female) and the relatively-famous Yelof530 (D11 male)!

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><p><strong>Lilly Cross by zxskunkmuffinxz<strong>

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><p><strong>zxskunkmuffinxz's AN: **Thanks to everyone who is reading this story and who has reviewed. I know that most people will have no idea who I am, but if you do then you are awesome! Hope you like my chapter and I would like to thank mikki105 for asking me to join this!

_-Nicky Dear_

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><p><em>"The fearless are merely fearless. People who act in spite of their fear are truly brave." -anon.<em>

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><p>"What's the time?" Asks my best friend, Crissy. This is the tenth time in the last 2 minutes that she has asked the same question, and to be quite honest, I just want to punch her so she will shut up.<p>

"For the last time, it's 12 o'clock. Now shut up or I will make you," I say, raising my fist threateningly.

We walk in silence, all heading to our houses which are next to each other. That's how we became friends; she lived next door to me and we talked to each other. At first I didn't trust her, I thought she was sent to spy on us by the Capitol for some odd reason. I still don't really trust her completely but it is better than before. At one point, when I thought she was trying to attack me, I tried to snap her neck. Turned out, she was trying to surprise me. Needles to say, she has never tries to surprise me again.

As we arrive at my house we turn to each other and say good luck. I turn my back on her as soon as she starts walking away. My house, well shack more like it, is very run down and in need of serious repairs, but of course my father says it's fine. The nerve of that man.

During storms, I used to scare myself by thinking the hut will collapse or the roof will fall on us, killing us all. There was one storm that was so terrible once, that a house collapsed with me in it. I was at my friends house, Fabrica, and got trapped under a section of the roof. Fabrica was crushed to death instantly, along with her whole family. I was the only lucky person in that house and ever since, I have been getting dirty looks from some of her friends. A few have even come up to me and said "How come you survived when you can't do anything? Fabrica was two times the person you will ever be."

The door is open, a common occurrence in our District, so I just walk right in. I find my brother straight away. He's looking very, very worried. He turned 19 at the end of last year and is technically the oldest out of the children, except he will never say that. His older twin sister, my sister, died in the 18 Hunger Games at the age of 13. She got killed by a knife thrown by the District 1 female tribute during the bloodbath. She went on to the final two, only to stumble at the final hurdle, being killed by her District partner. That is the first and only time I will ever cheer for a Career.

Since that fateful day that she was reaped, I have trained to be prepared for the arena. Every morning, I run, every day I spar with Bailey, my brother, so that I can almost take him down even though he is 5 years older than me. I have learnt how to handle weapons like knives and spears, I've learnt how to set traps and snares for food but I am absolutely useless with a trident.

Mother has already set out my reaping clothes. They used to be her clothes that she wore to the reaping but I guess they are mine now. I try not to cry when I realize something else; these are the same ones that Chloe, my dead sister, wore when she was reaped. Mother and Father haven't touched these since they were given back to us. I guess they must be for good luck. It sure better bring me good luck, otherwise I won't be very happy.

I slip the soft green dress on, wear my best shoes and walk to the Justice Building. It takes about 30 minutes, but eventually we get there. I have to sign in, so I say goodbye to my parents and brother, hug them and head over to the peacekeeper. I give him my name, age and move on to the 14 year age group where I find Crissy already there.

"Hey," I say. She nods her head in to show that she heard. I huff and turn to face the stage just as our escort, Vikus Heron, walks up onto the stage. His sleek blacks hair blowing slightly in the wind. His hazel brown eyes lock onto every single 12-18 year olds eyes. He has done that ever since I can remember. At first it was annoying, but slowly, I got used to it and learned to do the same to him. His voice is nothing like the other Capitol people's accents, which is good because I hate the accents. His skin is golden, know doubt having lain in the sun for hour on end, and his face flawless.

"Ladies and gentleman, welcome to the 24 Hunger Games reaping! Today is very exciting because it means one male and one female get to have the honor of representing their District in the Hunger Games! Happy Hunger Games and may the odds be ever in your favour! Boys first!"

We all watch as he slowly walks over to the reaping ball, pick one out and walk back to the microphone.

"This male tribute with the honour of representing District 11 and bringing them their first victor is..." Everyone, including me, holds their breath. "Vaughn Shumway." I turn to look at 13 year old section and see a white faced boy walk forward, fists clenching and unclenching. A single tear rolls down his cheek like water on a dry river bed, leaving a moist line on his cheek that glistens in the sunlight. On his way up to the stage I see him stumble, and nearly fall. He hides it quite well, but we can all tell that he will be an early death. Maybe he will die quickly. One can only hope.

"And now for the female tribute!" Again, he goes through the whole thing of slowly walking to the reaping bowl, picking one out, walking back to the microphone and finally pretending to smooth out the creases to make it 'easier to read'. "The female tribute with the chance to bring fame and fortune to District 11 is, Lilly Cross!" I freeze, hoping that I have misheard him. I don't want to go into the arena and meet my death! But then a sudden thought crosses my mind: I get to have the chance to kill the female tribute from District 1. That gets me really excited and I can't wait to see the blood spill from the deep cuts that I will put into her body. The scars that will make her unrecognizable when she gets on a hovercraft in a coffin. That moment I will savour forever.

All these thought cross my mind as I am escorted up to the stage by two Peacekeepers who I don't remember grabbing me. Vikus must have called them when I didn't come up. _Funny, _I think_, I don't remember hearing him calling them._

As I reach the stage, Vikus holds our his hand to help me up which I batter away straight away. I don't like it when people try to help me get into or onto thing just because I'm a girl. Especially not creepy strangers like Vikus Heron who come from the _Capitol_ of all places.

Vikus eyes me wearily before recovering and speaking into the microphone. "Our fabulous tributes are Vaughn Shumway and Lilly Cross! Lets give a round of applause to them and hope that one of them will become a future victor for this wonderful District!" Everyone claps halfheartedly until something unexpected happens. Just as I grab Vaughn's hand, he falls to the ground in a heap. A sudden hush falls over the crowed as some Peacekeepers try to awaken him.

As they try to revive him, I get my first good look at my competitor. His sky blue eyes stand out compared to the rest of his face. His dark brown hair could be easily mistaken for black and his skin isn't the same as most people here, with it being a cross of dark and light brown, leaving him looking like a semi-harvested field. He is smaller than me in both height and frame. Where as I'm broad shouldered and heavily muscled, he is the type of person you would find hunched over, reading a book.

When they finally revive him, he seems dazed and confused, only to be taken to the Justice Building alongside me, led by a couple of Peacekeepers.

Some people old enough to remember The Dark Days say that our Justice Building used to be a thing of beauty. Now it's slowly decaying but still largely intact. I have never been in here but I already hate it. Maybe it's because I am saying my final goodbyes to my loved ones before I am shipped off to my certain death.

I don't even bother to take in my surroundings, instead opting to just sit and wait for someone to walk in and say goodbye to me for the final time.

The first person to walk in is Crissy, and the first thing I notice is that she has been crying. Her red, puffy eyes are a dead giveaway, same with her tear streaked face. I make to stand up and hug her when she runs towards me and crashes into the couch with me in her arms, hugging me ferociously. I try to get her off my, try to tell her again that I am not the hugging type of girl but she won't hear a word against it.

"How do you feel?" She asks once she has released me from her death grip.

"Excited! I can't wait to see the District 1 female tribute's face when I drive my knife through her throat and kill her for what that District did to my sister! They will pay when I kill off the Careers one – by – one. I have to kill them. They killed her, Crissy, they killed Chloe. I was really close and she was so protective of me. It's like losing an arm. I mean, I have my brother Bailey but it's not the same as having a sister."

Crissy untangles herself from our awkward embrace and turns to look me in the eye. "I understand. Well, no I don't really, but you have said this to me a thousand times. I know you can do it. I know you can win. You have the strength to do it and the skills. You just have to do it."

"Easier said than done," I mutter bitterly. She obviously doesn't hear me because she plows on.

"Listen, I know you don't have a token to take into the arena, so will you take something of mine?" She goes as far as to reach into her pocket before I stop her.

"I already have a token," I say and hold up my wrist. On it lies a bracelet that we made together, our 'Friendship Bracelets' as she calls it. She has one as well and has never taken it off since she put it on for the first time. I haven't either, come to think of it, but she is the only person that knows that.

Her face goes from confusion, to shock, to happiness and is pretty funny to watch. All to soon, though, the Peacekeepers are kicking Crissy out and bringing in my family. At first my parents hesitate when they see my eyes are only on Bailey, but then come inside none – the – less. We sit in silence for a while before Mother brings up the dreaded subject.

"So, what is your strategy for the Games? What will you do in the arena?"

I look at Bailey and Father before answering, "I'm going to wing it. But one thing for sure is that I will kill the female tribute from District 1. It'll be revenge. I can't wait ti drive my knife into her throat and rip it out. I want to make her suffer though beforehand so she knows that that's what Chloe had to endure," I snarl.

"So this is about Chloe, is it?" Mother asks softly. I nod and we all laps into silence. A few minutes later they are called to leave. We all stand, give each other a hug and a quick kiss and then they leave.

We meet up with Vaughn on the way outside and he looks worse for wear. He has obviously been crying and is making an attempt to hide it but it isn't working. He keeps his face looking at his shoes while a give the cameras a self – assured grin. The Capitol will lap that up, they always do.

As we board the train, I realise that I am still wearing my reaping clothes that Chloe wore when she was reaped. The one that Mother said would bring me luck.

So much for luck.

* * *

><p><strong>Vaughn Shumway by Yelof530<strong>

* * *

><p>"Vaughn," Mother singsongs. "Time for breakfast!" My eyes flicker to the wall clock and I read it to be a whole lot later than a time for breakfast. True, I've been up and fully dressed since six. Mother has the idea of me being a late riser, though. Most of the time, when she eases my door open, I've shoved the book I had been reading under my pillow and feigned sleep. Not that there's anything wrong with being awake so early. I guess it's the reading. I receive most of them from my grandparents, who aren't the most law abiding citizens. Mother thinks my mind will be changed and I'll start killing people or something.<p>

I pull out a safer, more legal book from my book shelf. It's hard to ever judge what time it is in my house. Mother knows my, eh, anxiety of the outdoors and tends to keep the windows covered. I pass by the mirror in the hallway and blink with alien blue eyes at the boy staring back. This leads me to look down to my light colored hands where they grip the spine of my book.

"Mornin', sweetie," Mother smiles, leaning in to kiss the top of my head as she walks by when I take my spot at the table. Pa peers down at several documents on the table. His glasses are perched just at this tip of his dark nose and how official he looks just make me laugh. This is the same man that bellows, "I ain't gettin' no shut eye around here," when he's up at night filling out paperwork. He's a whiz with numbers, though. The accountant for the District's crops and harvest amounts.

"Hi, Ma," I murmur softly after swallowing a bit of the cardboard tasting pancakes. I breath slowly through the food. Don't think about it, I scold myself. Happens all the time, they turn out fine.

"I got some of the nice neighbor boys to walk you to the reaping," Mother says. The atmosphere of our house is always subtle and quiet. The sounds of our grandfather clock echoes from the living room and Pa clears his throat in a show, probably to fill the silence. I like it. Always good for reading. "You nervous?"

I shrug indifferently. Pa brings his mug to his lips, mumbling something along the lines of, "He's always nervous." Mother whips the back of his neck with a dish towel and the man rubs it with a sheepish grimace on his face. I smile the teeniest bit. It's true, though.

A loud knocking makes me flinch and Pa sighs at my reaction. I'm not exactly a perfect son. Maybe, if I lived in Three, I'd be something. But Eleven of all places. I used to love going outside, climbing trees, running around. I barely even remember why I don't. Something with a Peacekeeper freaking out on me when I was five. It may have gotten physical, and for some reason, my hand runs along length of my lip.

I hear Mother talking cheerfully with someone at the door. Pa nods to me, tossing one of his forms aside.

"Good luck today, kiddo," he says in his deep voice. I nod down at my hands, watching them twiddle about. I'll need all the luck I could get. I truly am a screw up kid. Pa absolutely loves everything I basically don't.

I slip from my seat and walk over to the front hall. "See ya later, Vaughn." Without even turning around, I nod.

Mother strokes my neck as I step beside her. Light trails in through the doorway, and I stare down at my shoes. Through glances up, I see several finely dressed boys a little older than me standing just outside. She won't stop talking and the boys roll their eyes.

I feel the familiar drift of Mother's lips on my cheek. "Be careful, okay?" She straps on my helmet and gives me a gentle nudge outside. Admittedly, my feet skid a little. That's a lot of dirt and sky out there. A lot of people walking too. The boys exchange awkward glances. I am going to die.

Reaping Day is the worst day of the year. It's pure stress and anxiety for me. Mother and Pa walked me to my first one last year, but I had persuaded them that I was big enough to go on my own. Horrible idea, I see now. Whereas, kids just worry about being reaped, I have a whole process to go through. Walking outside, standing in that giant crowd of people. I either have to keep my nose in a book or stick my fingers in my ears, squeeze my eyes shut, and hum "la la la."

The biggest of them, probably about seventeen, grabs my wrist and hauls me forward. As full shot of sunlight stretches across my face, I duck my head and fumble to open my book. I stumble behind the pack of children. Focus on Gregor, focus on Gregor. The book, if you're confused. Focus on Boots and Gregor.

The others chat with nervous laughter, finally falling back to walk along with me. "What with the helmet?" a boy only an inch taller than me scoffs. I adjust it self-consciously on my head, trying to look up.

Pursing my lips, I remain silent. "Hello? Earth to Vone!"

"V-Vaughn," I correct with a stammer. "An 'aw' sound." Another kid, an exact carbon copy of the first, smacks the back of my head.

"Damn, that does work." Five of them, I count. Three others come in and smack my head, while the seventeen year old simply shakes his head wearily at them. One of the double gangers tug off the helmet, and the strap chokes me slightly as it snaps apart.

"Give it!" I yell. The one who grabbed it actually freezes at the tone of my voice, but laughs the moment off.

"This?" he snorts derisively. "Go get it." I lunge for him but the kid is faster than me. He chucks the item long and far, right to the top of a tree. I blink up at it for awhile, jaw slightly ajar. My gaze swings to the kids around me. I could just see the thought process in their brain going, guessing at what I'd do next.

My mouth widens to yell. But then I'm struck by the space around me. I stood out in the open. No place to go. Just me and these kids who look like they can tear me apart if they wanted to. They wouldn't, but they could. Anything could happen. I'm so insignificant, and the world is gigantic! My palms sweat and I rub them uselessly off on my slacks. Relax, relax...

"I think he's hyperventilating," one of the boys comments. With a shrug, they start walking away and I sink down to cower in the dirt. The giant seventeen year old sighs after a moment, lifting me up and tossing me over his shoulder.

"C'mon, kid," he murmurs. Surely he could feel my heart hammering into his back as carries me. I simply breath through, allowing my mind to wander off.

Find your happy place. You are in your room. You're in your room reading a book. A book about plants. Nice plants. Nice plants.

The larger kid's voice buzzes through his chest. "Pierce Knox, seventeen." He pauses awkwardly, and it takes come clawing to pull me off of him.

"Vaughn, er, Shumway. Twelve," Pierce fills in for me.

"Thirteen," I instinctively correct. The Peacekeeper taking names raises his eyebrows at me. He takes it upon himself to shove me into the thirteen year old pen.

Other kids give me curious looks. Two slips of paper. Two slips. How bad could that be? The odds are so insignificant. I sink low into my book, occasionally glancing up at the escort, an impressive looking man named Vikus Heron. That guy has seen plenty of sun. Not as strange as some of the folks we see from other districts. 'Curiouser and curiouser,' they could be. Those hazel eyes drill feel as if to drill into me, and I cower back behind my book.

I barely hear what he's saying, something about it being an 'exciting day' and 'may the odds be ever in your favor.' In the book...Gregor, why are you escaping? Stay where you are, stay with the people of the Underland. That place sounds great to me. Completely underground no sky. Firm walls you can lay a hand on.

"Vaughn Shumway!" Vaughn...Shum...way...

I look up at the stage and feel the first of dozens of cameras cast upon me. Can they see the fear gleaming upon the surface? The first wave of tears flood down and I stumble slightly. Wait, where's my book? God, no, I dropped it.

I look up at the stage and feel the first of dozens of cameras cast upon me. Can they see the fear gleaming upon the surface? The first wave of tears flood down and I stumble slightly. Wait, where's my book? God, no, I dropped it.

I stumble slightly, skittering forward. Breath, breath. All eyes settle on to me and it's like pinpricks swarming up my arms. Was there always this many people in Eleven? A patchwork of dark faces and lightly colored clothing, they meld and swim together. Oh, gosh. And I left my anxiety medication at home.

"Our fabulous tributes are Vaughn Shumway and Lilly Cross! Lets give a round of applause to them and hope that one of them will become a future victor for this wonderful District!" Huh? I turn to see a fourteen year old girl standing beside me. She's my district partner. One or both of us are to die.

She's taller and bigger than me, skinny but with just the slightest curves of muscles in her arms. Her skin is the usual dark-skinned tone of Eleven. I imagine her hanging atop one of the highest branches of the district. The thought only brings a nervous wave of nausea over me. I struggle to choke down my fear and reach out to grip her hand.

Something in those chocolate brown eyes show a spark of rebellion. 'I've got a new friend, all right. But what a gamble friendship is! She is fierce, brutal, scheming, bloodthirsty - everything I don't like. How can I learn to like her, even though she is pretty and, of course, clever?' I can easily quote this all in my head, and it somehow fits this girl by the mere glance into her eyes. But she was no friend of mine, and I no friend of hers.

I am to be in the Hunger Games. So many people watching. So much change. The edges of my vision darken and a lightness washes through my skull. A weakness spreads through me. At the corners of my vision, darkness fades towards the center.

* * *

><p>Mother and Pa...we were all a mess in our goodbyes. Everyone was crying, even Pa. I think that was the hardest to see.<p>

"'Nothing is hopeless,'" I quote through a sniffle. "'We must hope for everything.'"

The only people after them is Grandma and Grandpa. Curious people, they can be summed up as. Grandpa had fought in the rebellion in his time. By what I hear, Grandma had done her fair share of fighting too.

"Chin up, 'kay, kid?" Grandpa instructs. "Gotta show them you're a fighter."

"But I'm not," I answer through a wave of hiccups. "I'm a District Eleven boy who can't even step foot outside." Grandma strokes the back of my neck, shaking her head. Mother had kept me so guarded from the world. And this is where I am now.

"'...we call them dumb animals, and so they are, for they cannot tell us how they feel,'" Grandma states. Neither of them are crying, just patting my back in calm acceptance.

"'But they do not suffer less because they have no words,'" I finish. Where is this leading to?

Grandpa pulls a book from his pocket, placing it on my lap. My hands drift by the leather cover, but I find the pages to be pristinely white. "It's blank," I comment. Grandma nods.

"To keep your mind busy, and a place to keep your thoughts," she explains. "Keep in in your pocket. The pencil's dull, so it won't be mistaken as a weapon. Lord, I can't believe I just said that." The statement makes me grin and they kiss me one last time. To think, I'm related to these light skinned folks.

I wipe my face and am lead out to the trains. Lilly is a wave of calm. I think I can go as far as to say an uneasy air of excitement is radiating off of her. She glances to me and I stare down at my shoes. I brace for the open air and grip the pencil in my pocket. Breath, breath.

The Capitol does see us as dumb creatures. We do what the say, don't dare to go against them, for we have no say. Hunger Games in a nutshell. One, compact little nutshell.


	12. District Twelve Reapings

**A/N: **Finally! The sun must be shining and the world must be made of candy canes, we've made it to the final district! Well then, just think of Katniss and Peeta or Katniss and Gale or Peeta and Gale… basically whatever floats your boat. And then shed a slight tear when you think of the mine explosions and the butchering of twelve… and then laugh like a maniac when you think of the mine explosions and the butchering of twelve! Mwahahaha! Well, after this chapter it may take a while for the next one, since the deadline for handing in the chapters is the 1st January (not that anyone actually listens to the deadline(). I'm just saying this to wish you a merry Christmas from all of us twenty-four authors to any of you who celebrate it, and if you don't have a fun time anyway! ^_^ To decide the bloodbath tributes we're using many means, one of them a blind poll on our 24 tributes profile asking which 3 tributes you think should be bloodbathed the most, using things like the author's writing style, and of course the tribute themself - how long do you think they'd last? It'd really help if you could all join in and vote. Thanks! Well then, I'm SneverusSnapers, your very own version of Claudius Templesmith, introducing the final reapings of district twelve by… the ambitious MagentaPen (D12 female) and the everlasting Sallen (D12 male)!

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><p><strong>Clude Miller by Sallen<strong>

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><p>The jagged thoughts of the Reaping enclose my mind when I awake. Having to go yet <em>another<em> year and see _another_ girl and boy get drafted. I haven't worried over getting reaped before, and I'm not entirely scared now. But there's just the smallest hint that makes me panic on the inside.

I roll drowsily so I can face the other side of my room. There, sitting in an old wooden chair back in the corner, is Kyia with her head hung down. She looks up and smiles after giving a great yawn. I guess she must have been there all night because her gray eyes are worn. Her clothes are still old and her chocolate curls are a mess. She's still only fifteen, but with the way her appearance is you could easily mistake her for someone in their lower twenties.

"'Morning, sleepy head," She greets me. Her eyes follow around the room, searching for many different paintings of flowers. She looks like she did only a few years ago at the time when she did paint them.

"Why are you up so early?" I ask her, pulling myself up so I could sit on the edge of my bed. "You're a heavy sleeper."

Her smile drops, focusing her mind back on me. "So what? I'm excited for the Reaping…"

Kyia has never been eager for a Reaping, and every year she shows it. Once, she had even pouted, gathering up as much attention as she could. Kyia had shouted, wept, and threw the most interesting tantrum you could. She was only seven at the time, and I guess she just didn't want to spend an hour or two watching children sob...

She glares at me, knowing I'm dismissing her lie. "Fine, I couldn't sleep."

I smirk at victory. "I thought so, but what did you do for that long?"

She sticks her hand in her pocket and pulls something out, her small hand cupped around it. "I went for a walk… Gathered a few plants and that was it." She opens her hand to reveal a load of flowers. "Mom didn't mind…"

"Mom didn't _know_," I correct her. "Anyway, get ready for the Reaping. It starts soon." I jump from the bed and head right for my closet. Like everything in my room, it's a mess. I admit, I'm not the _cleanest_ type...

"It starts at noon," Kyia states, following me. "And that's far from now. Well, an hour, but still." She glares at what clothes I had just managed to collect: a simple blue polo and black khakis with dress shoes. "I swear, if you wear that, you're gonna get laughed at."

"I'm not gonna wear it," I lie. "Now get ready. And since when have you cared about fashion?"

Sighing, she sweeps out the room. "Since you started caring about the Reaping." She shouts back at me.

After getting prepared, I find myself roaming around.

In just moments after that I'm sprinting through the small house, searching for anything else I'd needed. _Nothing_. I _never_ have all my items collected ahead of time. I stop immediately, and hold my breath, trying to get myself to think.

Kyia comes from out of her room with a dark green dress on. It comes down to the top of her brown ankle boots and it ends like a wave. I recognize it as Mom's first Reaping dress. After three years, Kyia can _still_ fit it. "You have _everything_, Clude." She's finally brushed down her hair, but it's still in her natural curls. How she managed to get chocolate curls while I got shaggy dark hair confuses me. Mom and Dad had _thick_ dark hair. "Oh, and by the way," She holds up a small sticky note. "Mom said to meet them at the Justice Building. They had to run ahead somewhere."

"Fine," I say. "How 'bout you find one of your friends while we head over there. I need to talk Ty for a bit."

Ty is probably one of the worst people to get along with if you're not much of a _loud_ type. I'm not the loud type, but he's still an old friend of mine. To be honest, I don't remember how or when we became friends. He's highly confident, and he'll _always_ get you in major trouble. Even if it's as small as stealing a pencil. He'll find a way. He always does.

"Mmm," Kyia ponders it. "Okay, Abi and I've wanted to talk about the new kind of herbs we found. You should take a good look at it. It's real soft. Pink, but soft."

A long lasting moment of silence overwhelms the both of us as we stare at one another. Finally, Kyia speaks up, "I can't believe you put that on..."

I laugh, "Come on,"

* * *

><p>As it turns out, we didn't even have enough to see Abi and Ty. It was only minutes before the Reaping, and if Mom had known we wouldn't be here right now...<p>

We arrive just in the nick of time; the escort had barely managed to finish her greetings. The crowd is so silent you could hear a pen drop. _Everyone_ has their eyes glued on the drafter. "Time for the Reaping, yes? Ladies first!"

I push my way into the crowd of sixteen year-olds, just in an instant to hear Tara Tremain's name being called. A girl with the typical Seam look approaches from the crowd of sixteen year olds. I'm happy the tribute won't be Kyia, but Tara doesn't seem to need to go either.

Once she's made her way up to the stage, the drafter continues. "Any Volunteers for this young lady?"

No one. Not a soul. I wouldn't think so since so many people are afraid of the Games. Afraid of the Capitol.

The drafter carries on. "Now onto our males!"

It's almost like a dream when she calls the name. Almost as if no one in the world of Panem knew what would happen. I didn't see it coming. Eventually, I knew it would be someone I know. But I didn't ever ponder about it being me.

"Clude Miller,"

My eye twitches slightly, and I can feel Kyia's own on me. I avoid any thought of the Games, any thought of dying or being brutally injured. I can't think like that, not now.

I mentally kick myself to walk to the stage, but I'm proved to be paralyzed when I, somehow, manage to get there. I bite my lip until I can feel just a trickle of blood, and I wonder exactly how prepared I'd be if I _had_ trained. If I _had_ broken the law.

Like I had suspected, no Volunteers. So, its official, Tara Tremain and I are going into the Arena….

* * *

><p>The shock of being Reaped had soon passed when we start our goodbyes. I haven't showed much interest about other districts, but now I do wonder about them. What do they really do? Are they really anything like District 12? When the Victory Tour occurs every year, we all get a glimpse of the districts. But why are the earlier districts so damn better than Twelve? In the lower districts, you can die of so many things. But One, Two? Ha, didn't think so…<p>

I hadn't even noticed my family glowering down me. Kyia, now looking younger than ever, grabs hold of me. Our embrace doesn't last long, considering what little time we have for each session. She lets go, allowing my dad to speak up. "You haven't had any training, and I realize that. But, when you arrive at training, I want you to pick up every damn one of those weapons and learn everything you can. Skills, not so difficult for you, but still try and master them."

I nod, "I will."

He ruffles my dark hair, a hopeful smile on his lips. "Good, come back."

Kyia comes up quick behind him, almost running every one of her words together. "Clude, you _have_ to get back here. I can't stand the thought of only having Abilene and Naira here." Both Abilene and Naira have been Kyia's best friend since she was five. She trusts them over anybody else, except maybe me. "Be sure to remember _all_ the herbs. All the flowers and berries. _Everything_ we did."

We had this little game before when Kyia would always go out and collect plants. There's not a whole lot you can do around Twelve-especially around the Seam.

"And I _swear_ on my life, if you _ever_ pick up _Nightlock_, the second you get home, you're going down." Kyia's hated Nightlock from the moment she laid eyes on it. She claimed it was because of her hatred for dark colors, but there's no way in the world that that was her excuse. I can see tiny tear welling up in her eyes, but she ignores them.

My mom decides she won't say anything, but "I love you," and that's the end of the goodbyes from my family.

The next Goodbye session doesn't twist my mind the least. Ty. He's always been a bit of a clown, and rarely pays attention to whatever he does. Careless and a jokester, he's my best friend. "Hey,"

"_Hey_? I just got reaped for the day of my life I'd die, and you say '_Hey'_?" I ask, nothing but curiosity in my voice.

A grin spreads across his face, "_Don't die_? I admit, I've never done this before, but go easier, okay? All I can say is: Try everything you can to get back. I have a _huge_ plan, and you can't miss it."

I roll my eyes. "Fine,"

"Oh, and work for a while with a sword. I'd give you whatever knowledge I have of it, but I suggest you don't have your head blazing before you get to the Capitol." He scrunches up his nose in disgust at the mentioning of the Capitol. Everyone here _does_ seem to despise it. He's on the top list of _everyone_.

"Whatever information you have, I'm sure it'd come in useful pieces."

Ty grimaces. "Two years spent _well_. You should have thought about being reaped before. It'd sure pay off now."

Ty hasn't had but only an hour of training per week. He states its 'helped a lot'. I haven't seen him train before, but whatever knowledge he has of a sword could come in hand.

_Gee, thanks, Ty. That makes me feel like roses. _

"Time up," A burly peacekeeper shouts. Whether it's addressed to Ty leaving or me to aboard the train remains unknown.

Ty gives one last smile-maybe the last I'll see for a while-. "Good luck," And he's gone.

The Peacekeeper escorts me to the train. I don't see Tara just yet, and somehow that upsets me a bit. I don't even know her, but I might have seen her around the district. We both live in the Seam...

I board the train, glancing back one last time to see District 12.

* * *

><p><strong>Tara Tremain by MagentaPen<strong>

* * *

><p>Opening the palm of my hand, I expect to see five, maybe six gold coins, enough to keep my family fed for breakfast. It was definitely worth that much. But no, I don't see that at all, not even two or three of the shiny gold disks. I see four <em>bronze <em>coins. _Bronze_.

Confusedly, I look up at our Head Peacekeeper, Gerald. I'm thinking that maybe he has more to give me, or maybe he took a minute to sniff the coal dust. But no, he just stares at me in disappointment. "I really was expecting more from you today. Usually, you perform so well in bed. What on earth happened?"

I gulp down the vomit I was just about to release, because just the sight of him makes me nauseous. Yes, I did have to sleep with him. But it's usually very dark, so I can't see him, and I don't think about him while we're in bed. I just think of my family. Which is actually kind of creepy if you consider it.

Anyways, I usually get more than this, about five or six gold coins. But today was different, apparently I didn't "perform well enough".

"I don't know," I answer. "I guess I was just occupied by something else."

He shakes his head. "Tsk, tsk, that's no excuse. This activity we do, it's supposed to release your worries, not make you think of them. Again, I really was disappointed."

"I'm so very sorry," I say sarcastically. Usually, I'm not sarcastic, but I'm really angry with Gerald right now.

"I forgive you, dear, since you always perform best of everyone, this being an exception," he says affectionately. I want to spit on him. "You just needed a little more arch in your back, like this." Then he gets on the ground and demonstrates. He starts giving me more tips, like how to touch him, how I should take my clothes off. I leave when he starts pelvic thrusting.

I start off for the bakery, planning to buy a loaf of bread. A small one. Because Gerald is _cheap_!

You see, my family, like most in Twelve, is very poor. My dad works in the mines, but still we don't have enough to eat, because whenever he's done for the day, he goes out with his buddies and drinks the night away. And the day. He even once went to the mines drunk. That was bad. Yea, I know, my dad's a loser. He doesn't pay any attention to me or my brother or sister. To him, we're just coat hangers. The only reason Mom doesn't leave him is because the little support that he actually does give us, we need. Like sometimes he brings home wild dog tacos, if he for some reason doesn't have the appetite to finish them. But since that isn't enough by itself, I take up different odd jobs, one of them being sleeping with Gerald. It's not fun (it is for Gerald…), and my brother, Quincy, doesn't like it when I do it, but it's one of the ways to get food for our family.

Dragging myself along the road, I finally make it to the bakery. The smell inside is mouthwatering. The aroma of non-ration grained, non-covered in coal bread is wonderful. I hear the four coins clinking around in my bag. I pull them out, look at the prices for everything, and end up buying four rolls, because that's all I can afford with this (thank you, Gerald).

I slowly stroll through our black-snowed wonderland called District Twelve. I feel that there's no rush, even though the Reaping's in only an hour.

I'm not happy with what I'm bringing home, but I have the whole twenty minute walk to get over it.

At the door of our shabby wooden home located in the heart of the Seam, my young 10-year-old sister, Rose, greets me at the door with something in her hand. I have no idea what it is until she smashes it on my face. I feel the orange liquid run down my face, and pull the pulpy flesh of the squished berries off my face. Yes, my sister smashed berries in my face. This is one of the many strange things she does.

"So I bring home rolls and in return, I get berries to the face?" I say.

Rose giggles like little girls do. "I was trying to make you look like one of those Capitol people. They always wear a lot of makeup. Of course, we don't have makeup, so I just used berries."

So she's trying to make me look like a Capitol clown, hm?

I go inside, set the bag of rolls on the table, and try to wash the juice from my face. It doesn't come off and stains my skin, making me look like an oversized Oompa Loompa. Most people wouldn't know what those are, but in my family there were stories about Oompa Loompas passed down through the generations. They're strange creatures who liked roaming around in chocolate factories. I think they've gone extinct.

I sigh, because my friends _will _make fun of me for it, but it won't be the end of the world when they do. I open the clothing drawer in my room and pull out the reaping clothes that I wear every year. It's a light pink cotton dress with a white flower pin. Tight, yes, stained, yes, but unwearable, no. It works, and when I'm nineteen and unqualified to be sent into the Hunger Games, Rose will wear it.

My stomach growls, and I decide that I want to eat a roll. I tie my hair into a loose bun and exit the bathroom.

I open the paper bag I left on the table. When everyone hears the loud crinkle, they rush into the front room.

"Rolls," Quincy says, taking one and examining it. He won't eat it yet, unlike Rose and Mother. "How'd you get them?"

I tear a small piece off and stuff it into my mouth. Chewing slowly and savoring the fluffy texture and delicious flavor of it, I answer, "I bought them. I know that we aren't the richest people ever, Prince Quince, but I thought that it was kind of obvious, I mean, how else could I get them?"

He rolls his eyes. "You know what I meant."

I shrug. "I made some money."

"How?"

"By working."

"Working what?"

"What kind of a question is _that_?"

He looks at me for a long time, trying to figure me out. I don't understand why he's getting so worked up. If I made money, I made money. What would it matter if it was because I had to go to extreme lengths with- "Gerald," he says. "Tara, I thought I told you not to go near him."

"Why does it even matter, Quincy?" I ask, starting to get angrier. "It got us _some _food at least."

"But I don't like you doing that, Tara. I don't want you losing innocence just to make money."

"You think that I like it?" I ask. "You think that I want to hop in bed with someone like Gerald to make money? I don't. It's disgusting, degrading, and I hate it. But it's all for you, my family."

Rose speaks up. "Who's Gerald? What are you talking about?"

"Leave, Rose," Quincy says.

"Not until you tell me what you're talking about," she demands stubbornly.

"Mother, get Rose out of here," Quincy orders.

She drags our little sister outside, kicking and screaming. "I'm going to go to the Square," Mother says. "Make sure you leave soon."

They shut the door, and I listen as they grow further and further away from our home.

"It makes you look like a sleaze, Tara," Quincy claims. "Just please stop. Don't go near him again."

"I can't promise you that," I reply. "I wish I could, but I can't. He pays me more than any of the other jobs do. If I quit, I'd lose most of the pay I get in a week."

By the look in his eyes, he's in pain. He sighs, then spreads his arm out for a hug. I run into them willingly. We hold on tight, and he speaks, "I'm sorry, Tara. I know that you hate it. I don't like seeing you in pain, that's why I get so angry. It's bad enough for you, and I'm just making it worse by snapping at you for it all the time. You're just trying to help us. I don't want anyone to hurt you, Tara. I swear that if I could switch places with you, I would."

I pull away from him. "That would be great," I reply, "except I don't think Gerald goes that way."

Quincy laughs and nudges me along. "Come on, let's get to the reaping. Fingers crossed that we don't get picked."

I smile and nod. "Although if we did, we would take down the competition."

He puts an arm around me. "No doubt we would. We're tough, we're made of steel. We're invincible."

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><p>Quincy and I part ways, him going to the section roped off for the seventeen-year-olds, me going into the group of sixteen-year-olds.<p>

We get there in the nick of time, the mayor has just started his speech when we are settled in.

Same boring old speech… storms… blah, blah… droughts… blah, blah… rebellion… blah, blah… and then, voila: Hunger Games.

Then they list off the past victors. There are none. Yup, you heard me right. District Twelve has no victors, so the tributes have to train themselves.

Then the mayor introduces our escort, Karina Hellina.

"Good afternoon!" she greets, sneakily picking a wedgie. "Time for the reaping, yes? Ladies first!"

She crosses the stage and jams her hand into the giant glass ball that contains the names of District Twelve's corpse- I mean tribute! She mixes the papers around for some reason, and finally pulls out a name. Her hand must be covered in paper cuts.

Clear as a bell, she reads, "Tara Tremain." Wow, do I feel sorry for her. I think I've heard the name somewhere before, though I'm not sure where. I must know her somehow. I'll recognize her when she comes up to the stage, which I don't know when that will be. She still hasn't come up yet.

Karina scans the crowd, as if she knows what Tara Tremain looks like. I take a look to my left and see my friend, Helen. She's staring at me, tears running down her face.

"What?" I ask.

She looks at me like I'm crazy. "What do you mean, 'what'?"

"What are you looking at me for?"

"What? You're not making sense, Tara. You were just reaped!"

Now it's my turn to look at her like she's crazy. "_What_? No I wasn't!"

"Yes you were!" "No I wasn't, it was some girl named Tara Tremain…!" Wait a minute.

My body reacts before my brain. I take a step out of my age group, and immediately every camera is trained on me. I walk up the stage, and I find that, surprisingly, this comes naturally to me. I'm not afraid.

"Any volunteers for this young lady?" Karina asks. A stupid question for District Twelve, if you think about it. No one volunteers. Period.

"Now onto our males!" she says after no one volunteers.

She picks a name from the glass ball on the other side of the stage, walks back to the microphone, picks the same stubborn wedgie, and reads the name, "Clude Miller."

A boy who looks like he's from the Seam walks stiffly up to the stage.

"I present to you your male and female tributes of District Twelve!"

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><p>"You're going to win," Quincy says, not even bothering to tell me that I'm making it hard for him to breath. I don't want to let go of them. I don't want to let go of my family. I want to hold them as tightly as I can.<p>

"Don't even kid yourself, Quincy," I say. "There are kids built like oxen coming into the arena that will smash me to bits."

He holds me tighter. "I refuse to believe that. You even said so earlier, you can win this thing."

I smile. "Oh, Prince Quince, you know that I was joking. You know me."

The Peacekeepers come.

"Don't die," Quincy says. They leave without a fight, and those are the last words my family will ever speak to me. "Don't die." Great choice, that will definitely be going in the scrapbook.

My friends come to visit. They cry, but I don't. I can't. I don't want to. I haven't cried since I was seven.

I don't remember any of the meaningless exchanges that my friends and I said to each other. I would've expected something deeper, something more of a goodbye. After all, I'll most likely never be seeing them again.

The only thing that lingers in my head when I reach the train station is Quincy's words on the way to the reaping.

We're tough, we're strong. We're invincible.

Yes we are, Prince Quince, yes we are.


	13. Train Rides Part One

**A/N: **Hello everyone, and to a lucky few of you merry christmas! It's just Christmas eve here for me, but the few of you who live in New Zealand and Australia will be relishing in the Christmas Spirit already! Now, I know many of you are itching to see the order of our pre-games chapters, so here you go:

Train rides setting off to sleeping, Train rides waking up to arriving at the Capitol, Arriving in your Capitol rooms early evening, Arriving in your Capitol rooms late evening, Preparing for the Chariot rides, Chariot Rides, Night after Chariot rides, Training day one, Evening Scene in Capitol of your choice, Training day two, Evening Scene in Capitol of your choice, Training day three, Evening Scene in Capitol of your choice, Private training session (D1 – 4), Private training session (D5 – 8), Private training session (D9 - D12), Learning training scores, Preparing for interview, Interview (D1 – 4), Interview (D5 – 8), Interview (D9 – 12), Right after interview, Night before games, Morning of games up to launch.

To keep an element of surprise we're not telling you who's writing what chapter, or which tribute will be starring, but I can now reveal that the person writing the train rides part 1 chapter is... FritzasPritz (D3 Female). So... let's take it away!

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><p><strong>Jules Surket - Train Rides Part One<strong>

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><p><em>Just because everything is different doesn't mean anything has changed. ~Irene Peter<em>

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><p>As the train leaves the district, I lose my balance and fall back into a chair. I band my head against the top and I have to blink a few times to make sure I'm stable. Mack is the only one who sees and doesn't hide the laughing smile on his face at my disposal. I'm glad that the chair was there to catch my fall and that my only witness is my partner in the Hunger Games. Unfortunately, when I stand and Lucea tells me to do whatever I want as long as I don't bug her, I take a step toward one of the bedrooms and my foot gets caught on something (probably air with my lack of balance). I stumble forward and collide with Cabel.<p>

"Sorry," I say immediately, trying to pick myself up. Mack actually laughs this time and even seems to forget our current situation for a little bit. But then Gages says, "At your rate, you'll be the first idiot to explode from their land mine." I can feel the blood rush to my cheeks. It's not as though I can help my own clumsiness.

Cabel makes sure I am stable before putting a hand on my shoulder and looking into my pale brown eyes. It is almost as if he is looking straight into my soul. "If the fish cannot swim they die from starvation."

"What?" I say immediately. I try to understand what he is saying. It makes sense, I guess, but what does it have to do with my clumsiness? Is he trying to say that if I can't walk right, that I'll end up dying?

"He always talks like that," Gage scoffs. He walks away from as he says "the smell of failure" and goes to his bedroom to do whatever he intends to do until we are fed in an hour.

Mack disappears behind his own room as does Cabel and Lucea. I am left in the hallway, examining the grand décor of it all. I imagine that it looks a lot like the Capitol corridors or even Districts One and Two. It's beautiful here and I want nothing more than to take it all with me and run home. A small smile comes to my face as I picture myself tearing off the wallpaper and jumping off of the train to go back to District Three.

I stare at the tracker jacker still in my hand and put the chain over my head so the bug could rest on my chest. It is pretty ugly looking and it can possibly show my hiding place from miles away, but I know I'll need it for if I have the opportunity to get venom. That and it is the only thing I have of home, even if it was from Betta.

Struck by a sudden thought, I go into my room (which is too big for my taste) and look through the small writing desk. I find a note pad and pen and begin to scribble immediately. I have always been a horrible artist, but as long as I know what I draw, I figure it will do. I begin to sketch out an idea for a trap which involves rope and a source of electricity. I draw my trees (which look like broccoli or maybe a bunny tail) and the electricity makes it look worse. Still, I can see the image in my mind and that is enough for me. Though, I can't help feeling that I will have no idea what this mess is when I look back on it.

I put that picture to the side and decide to draw out another. This time I sketch out the possible idea for a tracker jacker. My thoughts in the Justice building were spurts and incomplete, but as I remember them, they fit together like perfect puzzle pieces. Slipping some venom into a main source of water would do. Then placing deadly traps close to the same water source would give an easy kill. Perhaps injecting people in it would work too. Another idea comes to mind, but this one I do not jot down. No, I need to keep this one in mind for later, a last resort if you will, and I don't want to risk the paper falling into the wrong hands.

The smile that falls on my face bothers me. I have never been a sadistic person and the only murderous thought I have ever had was on a girl called Curlie who licked candy then threw them at my hair until I was practically a lollipop. Even that didn't last long since she was caught for stealing and a Peacekeeper whipped her repeatedly. The fact that I am planning the deaths for not one but twenty-three individuals makes me push away the paper and lie down on the large bed.

I spread myself out on it and find that even sprawled out I cannot reach the edges. Small and delicate, my mother used to say. I call it weak and annoying. On the other hand, maybe small and delicate will help me out. Who knows maybe the thin, short, brown-eyed girl will actually get some pity point? I snort at the idea.

I know that I will not be much of a threat physically. I can run, somewhat, and I wrestle a little bit from having an older brother and boys as friends, but I'm sure that will be nothing compared to the training of majority of the Career tributes. Besides, I think they let me win sometimes. When it comes to physical ability, the only thing that can probably get me to shine would be climbing and that's only because my ladder broke a few summers ago and I had to improvise to climb on top of the roofs when necessary. Maybe that and some type of electrical show would be a good thing to show the Gamemakers. I should make sure that they never underestimate me. They should never underestimate District Three.

As I settle down, the thought comes to me for what seemed like the umpteenth time; I'm in the bloody Hunger Games. "Damn," I mumble under my breath. I wonder what would have happened if I bet on myself? I know that Crazy Jack bet on me, but he practically bets on everyone. I wonder how much money I would have gotten. "Damn," I say again, though this time quieter and more solemn.

I allow my eyes to close and let my mind wander. I imagine home and the smell of rotten corpse in Betta's home. I can see my brother lifting me over his shoulder and threatening to throw me over the fence, even though he never would. I remember when my father first taught me how to repair the microwave in the kitchen, and how he hadn't even realized what an impact that would be on my life. But most importantly, I see my mother who cooked and baked better than anyone in the district, making the peach preserves that have always been my favorite. It hurts to know that I probably will never have those peaches, or hear my brother threaten me, or listen to my father's lessons. But it's alright, because I don't regret anything that brought me to this exact moment. And that's enough for me.

I think I fall asleep, though I cannot be too sure. The room is as still as it was when I dozed off and there is no way of telling what time it is with light unable to squeeze through the drawn blinds. Lucea is there though, roughly shaking me and mumbling stuff under her breath until my eyes open.

"Oh thank goodness! I thought you were dead for a moment and that would have been completely unacceptable. You hear me, _unacceptable_!" I blink a few times to make sure I process her words properly. She thought I was dead with my chest still moving and blood still running in my veins?

"I'm alive," I say, propping myself up on my elbows. "What do you want?"

"Dinner is being served which you would have known if you were not flirting with the line of life and death," my escort replies with very dramatic hand motions and moving of her body. I raise my eyebrows to hide the great desire to laugh really hard. Flirting with the line of life and death? I definitely haven't heard that one before.

"Okay," I say, even though many more colorful words jump in my mind. I can't help thinking that she probably only knows a small handful of them and maybe that's even a little too generous.

"Well come on," she says practically dragging me off of the bed. "If the food gets cold then they will have to reheat it and you know what they say about reheated food?" Nope, I really don't care. "Something about the chemicals makes people ill." She pauses and looks straight at me with narrowed eyes (which is strange considering her mouth still smiles at me). "This was your plan from the beginning wasn't it? You wanted to kill yourself to get me in trouble! But I found out your plan and let me tell you, it will not work!" Her words fall on deaf ears because I can't stop making fun of her ridiculously large smile. How she can eat if she smiles all the time? Does the food slide out?

Still dragging me, we end up at what I can assume is the dining car. Mack and Cabel look up at me and Mack gives me a small smile. I yank my arm out of Lucea's grip and sit in the empty seat beside Mack. Gage, who was munching on a piece of bread and didn't bother to glance in my direction when I entered, glares at me.

"She's clumsy, tardy, and probably has a temper. We have a great tribute this year, don't we, Cabel?" He nudges the older man sitting next to him who shrugs a little and glances at me. I don't know what to expect when he opens his mouth to speak.

"Like climbing the greatest mountains, our own free will can be intimidating." I decide not to say anything about it this time. At least he didn't insult me; at least I'm pretty sure he didn't.

"Eat!" Lucea hollers with her glaring eyes and a joyous smile. I look away so I don't stare but I am sure I will have some sort of bizarre dream about the paradox of her face tonight.

The courses come out slowly, too slowly for my own good. I don't want to eat too much because I don't want to get too used to eating a lot when I go into the arena. Plus, all of the emotions I've been pushing back returns to me in a stomach ache. I can't exactly not eat it because Lucea stares at me with those evil eyes and just daring me to try to do anything other than eating. Every time she looks as though she will say something to me, I take a bite of my food. Even at this rate, I'll gain an extra few pounds.

I purse my lips and glance at Mack who takes his helping happily and easily. He smiles every time he takes another bite and I decide that he is probably the best person to "pass my love" to.

I nudge him a little and he glances at me. I raise my eyebrows a little and look at my food. His eyes go to my food as well then he raises an eyebrow. I pick up the fork and make a motion of eating a little bit then he nods his understanding. He pauses for a moment, then takes a deep breath and looks at me.

"Why?" he says quietly. My eyes go to Cabel, Gage, and Lucea to make sure they didn't hear. When they do not respond, I answer him.

"Because due to the obvious amount a stress and the emotional dithering within the last few hours, my stomach is about one hundred percent sure that it will throw up any food I give it at this point." He smiles a little and glances at the small amount on my plate. I'm sure that Cabel and Gage has heard us by now, but Lucea still appears clueless. Maybe losing your hearing is a Capitol fad too.

"Then don't eat it," Mack replies, taking me out of my thoughts.

"Yeah, sure, why didn't I think of that?" I mumble with the sarcasm layered thick on my words. "I know, because that stupid escort stares at me like a chicken that needs to be pumped up for a feast.

His smile widens and he glances at Lucea who is talking to one of the servants about how her meat is cooked to medium and not slightly medium like she had asked for. He looks back at me with a raised eyebrow. "Are you trying to fatten me up instead?"

"Damn, you figured out my master plan," I say with a flirting smirk. Hey, just because I'm in the Hunger Games doesn't mean I can't fool around. "But can you please?" I say seriously.

He looks unsure and I can sense the thoughts that are running through his mind. Finally, he says, "How exactly do you intend to slip me a rack of ribs?"

That's a good question. I open and close my mouth a few times before saying, "Haven't figured that out yet, but if it just appears in front of you don't be alarmed." We smile at each other and I decide I like Mack. I know this isn't good, but I don't really care right now. I'm stuck with him for a half of a week at least and I don't want to spend that time glaring at him in the halls.

"Why aren't you eating, Jules?" Lucea says, the icy tone catching me off guard.

"Why are you staring at me while I eat?" I mumble out before I can stop it. Mack laughs and I see a ghost of a smile on Cabel's face. Gage simply doesn't care.

"I am in charge of your well-being. I need to make sure you are well fed and able to play the game." The way she says "play the game" makes it seem as though we are playing charades and the only thing the loser has to waste is their time. If only that was the case.

"Well, I wasn't aware of this great responsibility you carry," I tell her with a deadpan face. I can feel my pent up bitterness overflow inside of me and I force myself to keep it down.

She doesn't catch my sarcasm. "It is a great responsibility, isn't it? I was going to be a stylist but that seemed to be too little of a responsibility." She pauses to puff up her hair and smile at herself through the weak reflection on the table. "Also there would be some cases that I just couldn't help. Like your hair."

My hand unconsciously goes to the short and spiky brown locks around my head. It originally happened toward the beginning of this year when I was fixing one of the older computers and it caught alight. It attacked my hair first and it was just beginning to grow back. However, I had to deal with my district's jeer for weeks and I lost a few customers because of it. I don't like hearing people talking about it. It is a very touchy subject for me.

The bitterness takes over me and many more threatening thoughts invade my mind. The anger I have been trying to keep under wraps since I heard my name reaped fogs over my eyes and my self control falters. "At least my hair looks better than your ridiculously long nails and that stupid smile that makes you look like more of an idiot than any mentally challenged person I've ever met," I spit out with enough venom to put inside the tracker jacker. I probably could have come up with something better, and I'm a little disappointed that that was all that came out.

I can sense everyone's eyes on me and even though I don't regret a single damn word I said, I figure that apologizing will probably be better than having my mentors hate me. My supplies and probably my life will be in their hands. However, abandoning my honesty in the face of survival is not something I want, so I do what I always do: speak around the truth. "That didn't come out the way that I wanted it to," I say slowly.

It is quiet for a while longer. "See," Gage mutters breaking the silence and then turning his attention back to his food. "I told you she had a temper." I want to snap out at him too but seeing as the anger begins to settle back behind my wall of control, I decide not to say anything. I do think that Gage Brackett will end up killing me though.

Lucea glares at me for the rest of the dinner and I can't manage to slip Mack my food. When our several courses finally disappear, she announces that the reapings will be showing in the car next door. Gage leaves us again and he doesn't hide his disdain when he says, "No use watching the people who are going to kill you."

We file into the next car to watch our competition. Lucea takes the seat farthest away from me and I can't stop the smile from sliding onto my face. I sit on one end of the really long and very soft couch while Cabel takes the other end. Mack sits closer to my side than Cabel's. My mind drifts in and out of the room as I watch the reapings and pin together which ones could die and live by my traps. Seeing my competition makes my own ideas that much stronger and more personal.

I keep a very close eye on all of the normal Career districts and their size and strength is not surprising in any way. They are trained killers, I'm sure. I feel bad for the discolored man in District One since they forced him into it, but I don't pity him enough to underestimate him. After all, they must have forced him in there for a reason. The District Four girl confuses me. She kept looking back at the mentor and I noticed the ring resting on her ring finger. Then I realize that she must be the mentor's wife. I guess we all know where their sponsor money is going.

My hand unconsciously goes to the tracker jacker that swims in the bright yellow of my dress. I think of what I would need for my plans, for all of my plans. Would I even have the sponsorship to get any of this? And even if I did, would Gage give it to me? Probably not if Mack and I both survive the Bloodbath. The answer comes to me as the District Ten boy, tall and bulky, steps onto the stage. He could win. The Careers will want him on their side. The light bulb clicks almost immediately after and I feel like a fool for not realizing it before.

By the end of the recaps, I have a mental list of who will be a threat and who will probably be killed by someone else. I decide to write it down in code when I get back to my room.

Lucea leaves us almost immediately after, probably to get away from me. I wonder briefly if pissing off my escort will bite me in the butt later on. I hope not, but even if it does, then it's too late now. I am left with Mack and Cabel, as we stare at the now blank screen.

I turn to Mack. "What are you thinking? Can you win this?" He shrugs a little and I can tell he is still thinking things through.

"I don't know," he says, shifting a little. Cabel chooses this moment to stand up and leave with a little nod in our direction. I give him a small smile and wait for him to leave the car before turning back to Mack. "You think there's a District Thirteen?" I raise my eyebrow at him. And people thought I was random. It must be a District Three thing.

"I make a note to never believe anything the Capitol tells me, so yeah, I think there's a District Thirteen." He smiles and leans back to relax.

"There is no evidence to support that, you know," he tells me. His smile widens and I am sure he is reliving some memory in his life. I wait for him to look at me to reply to his comment.

"Evidence is for people wanting to prove something. What does District Thirteen have to prove?" His eyebrows scrunch together for a brief moment before replying.

"That's not really true."

"Whatever floats your boat," I shrug. That earns me a small smile. I know what I want to talk about, but I don't know if he will want to talk about it too. When I mentioned it earlier, he seemed uncomfortable, but it has to come up sometime so I say it anyway. "So, the Games?"

"Yeah," he says slowly and he shifts uncomfortably besides me.

"You have a plan yet?" I ask him. He takes a deep breath.

"Not yet."

I consider my next words carefully. Telling him my plan now would be foolish in case he decides to turn on me later on. I don't know him well enough to be sure that he wouldn't do that. But then my mother always told me that the road to trust was by offering it to people. Besides, there is no harm in tell him a little bit as long as I don't mention any of my traps. "I'm thinking about joining the Careers," I finally offer.

He looks at me curiously. "Why would you do that?" There isn't any anger or underlying emotions in his statement. He is simply curious.

"I have a plan," I say, perfectly hiding back my grin. "I just thought I'd tell you." Another thought appears in my mind and the possibilities flow immediately after. I cannot ignore the pros for this new variable but then, I can't ignore the cons either. Despite both sides, I decide to tell him, "You can come with me if you want."

He looks at the air for a while and I can tell he is mulling the idea over. "I need to think about it."

"That's fine," I nod. "I get it if you don't want to join since well, Careers are basically monsters in disguise, but I thought that since we are district partners, we should take care of each other right?"

He gets a funny look on his face, one I can't really describe. But I can see the smile in his eyes as he responds. "Yeah we should."

"Maybe I'll meet up with you in the arena instead," I offer. "You know, once I've overstayed my welcome with the Monsters."

He laughs. "I love that nickname."

"I thought it is more fitting than Careers. Just make sure to not say that to their faces."

We are quiet and enjoy the silence of the cart. Both of our minds are elsewhere and though I can't be too sure what Mack is thinking about, I know that another few ideas for a trap fluttered into my brain. "It's getting late," Mack says standing up. "Tomorrow is the day where they start trying to make us look Capitol-like."

"You mean we need smiles glued to our faces too?" The laughing smile comes onto his face.

"Maybe then Lucea will actually like you," he jokes.

"I don't think so because she still hates my hair." I touch the short locks and catch my reflection through the blank television screen. I don't care what anyone says. I like my hair, even if it does make me look like a boy.

"It looks better than it did before." I take his compliment with a nod and begin to walk out of the car.

We speak about life back at District Three and about the new Peacekeeper that dared to tell Crazy Jack to leave his post at the corner. We laugh at the memory of Jack beating up the Peacekeeper with his cane and one arm. We stay away from the topic of the Games and I can tell he is more comfortable with it. It hangs over us though, for me at least and eventually I feel like if I keep pretending we are anywhere but where we are, I will burst.

"Goodnight Mack," I say before my devotion to honesty takes over me.

"Goodnight, Jules," he says with a smile. We go into our rooms then, but not before I trip one more time and cause another laugh from Mack. Nice to know I can be his entertainment. Maybe I can just trip my way through the Games instead. I'm sure that will get me some pity points.

I know Mack will not be a threat to me, as awful as that sounds. It's not that he isn't a good opponent, because I'm sure he will be, but he doesn't strike me as the kind of kid to stab me in the back, though appearances can be misleading. I like him though. Together, we could be a good team, terrorizing the others with our brain power. On the other hand, if we somehow ended up together as the final two, I couldn't kill him. I think that I would kill myself before I ended up killing him. At least that way I wouldn't have to live the rest of my life being a traitor to my own district.

Settling back on my oversized mattress, I think about my plan. The Monsters would not be in this plot if I knew it wasn't necessary. And necessary it is. I need their supplies and if it means being a part of them then it's worth the hard ache. I sigh and roll onto my side. I did say I wanted to leave my mark and if that means dealing with the Monsters, then I think I can handle this challenge.

If not, then I'll die trying.


	14. Train Rides Part Two

**A/N: **So, the second and last train rides are looming over us. Remember the drunk Haymitch on the train? That was funny... and when I think of Peeta stripping him naked to clean him up. Well, let's just say (in a drivelly girly voice) "Peeta! I never knew you had it in you!". Anyway, hopefully there shouldn't be much stripping in this chapter. At least I hope not, especially with this tribute. And if that rotten Gerald turns up... *grumbles*. Anuway, sorry that it took some time to get this chapter up and running and it's the shortest yet, but don't blame me. Blame the author of this chapter... MagentaPen (D12 Female). But she's the author, and she's awesome. So let's not blame her then, right? If you want to blame anyone blame yourself. Ha! So let's catch up with the train, shall we?

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><p><strong>Tara Tremain (D12 Female)<strong>

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><p>Leaving the fact that I have to kill other innocent children in a matter of days aside, I'm actually kind of happy to be here.<p>

I yawn much louder than needed and stretch myself out in satisfaction, because I'm waking up from the best sleep I've ever had in my life. One, because it's such a comfortable bed. Two, because I had a huge, delicious meal last night. And three, because I'm not waking up next to a cheap, creepy old man. I dig through the dark, wooden clothing drawer carved with delicate little flowers and look for something to wear. After a moment, I decide on a light blue blouse and black pants that aren't stained or too tight. The silky fabric of the pants feels good against my skin and flows nicely.

I wash my face in the sink, and although I'm done, find myself playing with the hot and cold settings. I just can't get over all these Capitol contraptions, and I think that maybe I'm being childish about all of this, because I'm sure the other tributes are doing something more beneficial than playing around with all the buttons and doohickeys in their rooms, like planning a strategy. Man, if only Rose were here. She'd be having so much fun right now. Of course, the whole room would be upside down, but still, she'd have fun. You know, after she got over the fact that I was probably going to die and all.

After noticing that the orange stain is gone from my face, I head for the door. My hand curls around the knob, and it twists on its own. A force that's not myself pushes the door in, slamming straight into my nose. Karina peeks her head inside and looks at my nosebleed. She twists her face in disgust. "That is _gross_."

I give her that I'm-not-the-gross-one-here-you're-the-one-with-the-dead-bird-in-your-hair look. I'm one of many that doesn't understand the Capitol fashions.

She takes a deep breath. "Never mind that, your prep team can take care of that later. They'll fix you up. I came in here to inform you that the day is starting, and we shall be arriving in the Capitol soon."

"Thanks," I say. "I was actually just about to come out, but-"

She cuts me off by leaving, slamming the door behind her.

At least we're off to a good start.

I rise from the floor and press some tissues onto my bleeding nose. It's pretty bad, because Karina is much stronger than she looks, but it's completely stopped in five minutes. I clean the dried blood off my face and hands, then leave my compartment.

It's a big train, but doesn't have many compartments, so I easily find my way into the dining hall, where I see Karina and a few of what they call Avoxes in the room. As soon as I sit down, I'm given a plate larger than my head full of eggs and sausage and toast and other things that we could only dream of living in the Seam in District Twelve.

And surprisingly, the first thing out of my mouth is, "Where's Clude?"

Karina shrugs. "How would I know? He barely responds to anything I say, and when I tried to wake him up, he didn't answer."

"Hm."

"Yes, yes, hm, indeed."

I find myself pushing my eggs around on my plate, not really eating anything, and thinking about how bad these chances actually are for District Twelve. I don't know why it hits me now, but it does. We have no mentor, our escort doesn't care for us, and District Twelve is probably the worst district. So I decide that if either of us is going to have any chance of surviving these Games, we're going to have to work together. Probably not the best strategy, but what other options do we have?

I get up, and Karina doesn't bother to look at me. Walking down the hall, I try to find Clude's room. It's probably somewhere near mine, although I'm not completely sure, because I didn't pay much attention, and the doors aren't marked. Eventually I find a door that I suspect to lead into his room, so I knock. "Clude?" I say in a singsong voice. "Are you there?"

No answer.

I'm growing impatient, so I just open the door. I didn't expect it to be unlocked, but it is, so I enter.

Sitting on the bed, looking up at the ceiling, is Clude.

"Hey. What's up?" I ask as if we're best buddies.

He moves his eyes over to me and stares for a very long time. "Listen, I know Karina sent you here to wake me up, but I don't need to go out there. I'm just not very hungry."

"I understand. I mean, it was a big meal yesterday," I say. "And to think, Capitol citizens eat like that every day. It's all very grand. Quite an upgrade."

He doesn't respond.

"So why don't you come on out anyways? Karina says we'll be arriving in the Capitol soon, and it's sure to be unlike anything we've ever seen before. Do you want a first look maybe?"

He shrugs, and I suppose this is as much as an answer as I'll be getting. Maybe he doesn't like the fact that I'm praising the Capitol so much. Or he just doesn't talk much. But really, there's no other way to speak of the Capitol. Most likely, we're being recorded, and what should I say? They're cruel for this, and I hate everything about them? Sure, if I say that, I'll be speaking the truth, but they'll kill me in the arena. And maybe I'm the only one, but I don't feel like dying a horribly painful death.

"And Karina didn't send me here," I say. "I came on my own."

He looks up at me again.

"Listen, Clude, we have no mentor, a rubbish escort, and if that isn't bad enough on its own, we're from Twelve. I thought that maybe… maybe we need to try to get through this together. I'm not saying we need to team up in the arena, but at least we should try to train ourselves. Help each other out."

"What if it comes down to us?" he asks. "Then what?"

"Most likely that won't happen."

He thinks for a while. "I guess. I mean, if I don't win, I want you to."

"Same here."

He sighs. "So now what?"

"Come into the dining hall and get something to eat."

He reluctantly gets up from his bed and follows me to the dining hall. I notice that he has bags under his eyes. I wonder if he got any sleep.

Karina looks angry when we enter. "There you are!" she hisses. "Where were you? Ugh, never mind. We only have ten minutes until we make it to the Capitol! You need to eat and look at least _somewhat _presentable! Are you two trying to embarrass me or even worse?" Then she mutters something about being punctual and getting a better district.

I laugh at how she's getting all worked up and hastily shove my breakfast, which is mysteriously still piping hot, into my mouth.

When I finish, I head into my room and brush my teeth, just to make Karina happy.

Okay, it's because I wanted to mess with some of the buttons in the room. I take the whole ten minutes doing this. The train comes to a gentle stop, which tells me that we've arrived. Being a little child again, I run out of my room and into the main compartment. I'm not really looking where I'm going, so I end up running into Clude and Karina.

I laugh. "I'm sorry."

Karina gives me a disapproving look in return and slaps me on the shoulder. "Control yourself. You won't be getting any sponsors by acting like a five-year-old child."

I hold back my laugh. Looking up at Clude, I see that he's grinning. He's not looking at me, but outside the window. I follow his eyes to where he's looking and can't help the way my jaw drops.

The city is huge and looks absolutely ridiculous, with the blindingly bright colors and strange people. It's so much different than Twelve, and I've always known that, but seeing it in person makes that perspective seem different.

Seeing all this, the people, the buildings… it makes my heart drop. I was in a pretty good mood before, but not anymore. Because seeing the shining city of the Capitol tells me something.

That my descent into the Games begins now.


	15. Capitol Rooms Part One

**A/N: **Now we have another marvellous chapter up for grabs as we finally get a glimpse of the mysterious Capitol... you know, I worked out how many chapters this thing is going to be until we get onto the bloodbath, and do you know what chapter number the bloodbath is? Chapter thirty- seven. Yes! You heard me right! Chapter thirty-seven! And this is only chapter fifteen... *sighs*. Ah well, you know, things just work this way I suppose. Now, onto the chapter. The lucky ducky who will be providing you with entertainment all the way from the Capitol of Panem tonight is... Cloud-Lover26 (D8 Male)! Yes, that's right, Maia's purr-fect district partner. Can I say right now, just to throw it all out there, that I love Oak and he's absolutely amazing, and while it's really hard to admit, I think he might be *ahem* even better than Maia. Notice the _might_ in that sentence everyone. Wow... it's this hard to be nice to people? Or is that just me? Anyway, Oak, I hope you enjoy this chapter because he certainly is an amazing tribute!

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><p><strong>Oak Loaker - Train Ride and Capitol Rooms Part 1<strong>

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><p>We have been on this train for about 2 hours now. At first, the movement unnerved me, but as time passed I grew used to it. It was almost calming now, the constant rocking motion that didn't let you stand your ground quite as firmly.<p>

Currently, the realization that I was reaped hadn't sunken in far enough. For now, I just had a numb, hollow feeling in the pit of my stomach. I already yearned for the company of my two best friends, Kat and Thom. After every reaping ceremony, I would go off with them, and we would just leisurely waste the rest of the day. Of course, I would always have to make sure I got back to our beaten down shack before 9 pm, because my father gets back home at around that timing. I knew my presence wouldn't influence the extent of a beating, if one was happening that night. Although, I could try to soften the blow for my mother and sister by talking to my father some. Most of the time, those conversations externally were pompous and meaningful, but internally, I was just trying gladden him so much he would forget his true purpose for getting home in the first place.

All those beatings have taken a toll generally on my mother and sister, physically. They have suffered bruises, cuts, minor burns, bruised bones, even a broken bone once or twice. Once in a blue moon, I wonder how my mother keeps going. She has been beaten and degraded, by what is supposedly the love of her life, she has seen the same happen to her child. And the worst part is, she can't get away from it without endangering herself, her kids and her reputation.

My sister has been regularly observing her own flesh and blood, committing these acts against each other and including her. The thing I regret most is the innocence she lost at such a young age. I still remember how we were little kids, running around the district, both with the same utter joy and pure life in our eyes. Maybe it isn't exactly the way I picture it now, but looking back… I remember after the first beating, her eyes acquired that agonizingly _real_ look.

And lastly, myself. I may remain relatively unscathed substantially, but I have deeper emotional scars. These events have aged me considerably. On the outside, I remain a youthful teenager, barely embarking on my first day. On the inside, though… That is an absolutely other story.

Every time I have to tend to more wounds or bruises. Every time I need to empty my head and converse with my abomination of a father. Every time I have to go out in public and pretend like we're a perfect, happy family, when everyone knows it's not so. Every time I need to hide the pain away and stay strong for my family and public appearances. Every time I need to comfort my sobbing mother. My sister doesn't cry. She never cries, just like me.

Often I wish I could, but after so many years of suppressing it, I doubt my organism even remembers how to perform the shedding tears…

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><p>I am pulled out of wallowing in my own misery by multiple knocks on my door. It's our district's escort calling me to dinner in her shrill, piercing voice. I halfheartedly give her some reassurances of being there soon and walk over to the mirror to look myself over.<p>

It reflects a scared boy with my blue eyes, dark, ever-standing hair, adorned in fancy colorful materials: a dark blue button-down and slim-fitting black pants. I can feel something off, though. There is something missing in this picture. I have yet to comprehend what…

Without hesitation I step out of my room, crossing the empty hallways, still mulling over what's lacking. I amble into the dining room, not having clue what I'll see.

Simply speaking, the dining room is extravagant. The walls are made up of wooden panels sculpted out of the finest cherry tree complete with all the dainty swirls and patterns, shining with lacquer. There is a massive crystal chandelier above the long table, tiny glass droplets hanging down, replicating falling misty rain. The table is crammed with clean white porcelain bowls, that are filed to the brim with exotic dishes, most of which I couldn't name.

Finally stepping out of my trance, I note that besides me, only our escort is here. Her lilac face is beaming at me, waving me over to a seat. I take one.

A couple minutes later, everyone is gathered. The seating plan is pretty intriguing, I must say… It insinuates a lot of intriguing details. It so happens, that the escort is at the head of the table, the male mentor to her right, Maia to her left. I am seated next to the male mentor, while the female mentor seats herself alongside Maia. Dinner has just started, and I can already catch sight of the coy glances the obese escort is sending the male mentor. He is shifting uncomfortably in his seat, trying to ignore her.

This is going to be a long meal…

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><p>The whole meal consisted of the flamboyant escort shamelessly flirting with the male escort and the rest of us trying to conceal our laughs and giggles with coughs.<p>

"Oh, you should really do up your tie! Let me help…" Before he can utter a syllable, she's inclining towards him, running her plump fingers across his chest and neck. His reaction is to fidget around, but he's not pulling away. I wonder why?...

I know I would. That lady disgusts me. She's _that_ desperate. The female mentor clears her throat at that point, possibly to try and rescue her partner. The escort just ignores her, continually smoothing her lavender hand across the mentor's shirt, smiling flirtatiously. The worst thing about it is the so-called tie she invented just to get close to him doesn't even exist.

I don't know what it is, but something pushes me to help this poor man. I'd want him to help me if she was him at this point.

"Excuse me, I have a question." I inquire politely, lightly tapping the escort's shoulder.

"What is it, Maple?" She barks at me, snapping her head around and detaching herself of the miserable man.

"My name is Oak." I state. I can tell I won't get along with this woman.

"Yeah, whatever. What do you want?" She waves me off quite rudely, might I say. I can see the nameless man breathing deeply in relief, glancing at me thankfully.

"What's the latest fashion trend in the Capitol?" I don't even know why or how I came up with that. I can see she's also slightly puzzled.

"Like, the latest… Hair color." I clarify, trying to get her to talk.

Not surprisingly, her eyes light up momentarily and five seconds later, she's babbling on and on about all these things, people and places I've never heard of.

The rest of the meal passes by this way. The purple escort is chattering away about the Capitol, I am nodding in response, not actually listening and the others sitting there quietly, enjoying their meal. I don't think the escort really even wanted to hear what I have to say.

After I'm done eating, I want to leave immediately, but I don't know how to get away without appearing like a manner-less slob to the escort. She was still talking about some unknown person and his or her "amazing" works.

"Excuse me, but I'd like to retire to my quarters." I interrupt her tirade, getting up. Apparently, I had excused everyone. As we filed out in the hallway, I turned towards the direction of my room, only to be stopped by a hand on my shoulder. I swivel around to find myself standing face-to-face with the nameless male mentor.

"Thanks a lot, kid. You don't know how grateful I am for that thing you did."

"No problem." I brush off his gratitude. "Is she always like this?"

"Yes." He sighs, exasperated. Before I can say anything else, he turns around and waltzes into his room.

And so, I am left in the hallway, pitying that poor man. _Shudder_.

The escorts sends us off to our rooms, announcing that we'll meet later to watch the reapings and not to miss her. Fat chance of that.

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><p>Once in my room, I plop into a random armchair next to the door and rest. It's been a tiring day, and it's still not over. For some mysterious reason, my mind is flooded with various memories from home. I can feel my gaze, that's focused on the velvet of the armchair, softening and my eyes filling with moisture…<p>

No. I can't cry. I need to stay strong. If not for myself, at least for Tara and mother back home. They would want me to come back home and I can't do that when I'm hanging on to the past. Right now, I just need to let go of it and forget everything. The only I need to remember, is my reason for fighting. My family. I need to free them of the cruel grasp that belongs to my abomination of a father.

Next thing I know, the escort is pulling me out of my room, calling out to the others on the way to the sitting room. Once in the lavish room, she practically flings me onto a couch and plops herself down onto another one. Slowly, but surely, they all pile in. Maia first, who sits down to the right of me. The mentors come next, the man last. Understandable.

The female kindly seats herself next to the fat escort, allowing the man to sit next to Maia and I. He sends grateful glance her way and she nods, acknowledging it.

I get a moment to look around while the television set is being configured. The room has a theme of warm, luxurious, saturated colors. Deep red, burgundy, gold, sunset orange…

Soon enough, the television is broadcasting the reapings and I turn my attention back to the screen, trying to memorize everything I can about my new enemies. Nonetheless, I can't focus…

My body and mind feel numb right now, I can't concentrate enough to evaluate the competition.

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><p>Watching the reapings was peaceful enough. The escort flirted a little, but laid off the guy a couple minutes in. I guess she didn't have the right mindset anymore. We watched everything, discussed the other tributes a bit, and calmly left, off to our quarters.<p>

Currently, I'm pacing around my room, not sure what I'm supposed to be doing. I guess I could go have a shower… The moment I walk into the bathroom, I lock the door behind me and disrobe. I step into the shower, shivering slightly feeling the emanating coldness of the sterile, white tiles beneath my feet.

After a couple minutes of trial and error, I finally find a comfortable water temperature and pressure. I have yet to find some form of soap…

Oh. About half these buttons are dedicated to soap and soap-like products. Wow, I feel stupid. I laugh at my own idiocy.

Trying to find some shampoo, I start pressing random buttons, hoping for the best. Of course, with my luck, I only find something like it about 5 buttons later.

I finally finish up my shower, turning off the steady sprinkles of hot water, stepping out. While looking for a towel of some sort, I steady myself on a weird metal box that's sticking out of the wall. Startling me, air is blown all around me, drying me off instantly. With this kind of black magic, you don't need any towels.

I walk into my room to find pajamas laid out for me. Honestly, I'm creeped out… Who came into my room?

Disregarding that thought, I dress myself and sit on the corner of my bed. I don't really want to sleep yet, but I have nothing else to do on this train…

Nonetheless, I lay down in the bed, burrowing under the pale blue sheets.

* * *

><p>Two hours later, I'm still wide awake. I can't fall asleep, I'm just pointlessly tossing and turning.<p>

I give up.

Now that I've gotten out of the bed, I sneak out of the door, silently shutting my door behind me, careful not to wake anyone. The hallways were empty, just as I had expected. Slowly, taking measured steps, I walk into the sitting room I had walked through earlier. There are large windows in the room, flooding it with cold silver light. It's a full moon tonight. The stars are shimmering in the endless fabric of the night sky, sending of tiny beacons of desperation towards me. Desperation to stay alive. Desperation to just forget all of this and magically transport myself back home. Desperation for a normal life. Without the Hunger Games, or abusive parents, or poverty…

I'm pulled back into the real world by soft footsteps behind me. I whirl around to face none other than Maia Spring. She's looking at me, unfazed and expectant.

"What are you doing here?" she repeats her question, which I just only take notice of. Whilst the words themselves seem very hostile there's a hint of softness in her voice.

"Couldn't sleep. How about you?"

"Couldn't sleep." She states simply, echoing my words. Neither of us find any reason to delve any further.

We sit down on the couch on either sides of it and stare out the window, not speaking.

"What are you thinking about all of this?" I finally break the silence. Maybe I shouldn't have said it, but it's the first thing that came to mind. What do you expect? I've just been reaped and am now heading to my almost-certain death!

"That I'm going to fight really hard to win, I have to." She says, still staring out the window. "I don't know what I'll do though, I don't have many skills. And what I do have, well, it's not exactly going to be that useful."

"Me neither. Guess we're not all that different."

"So how come I've never seen you around the district?" I ask her, curious.

"It's… a long story." She trails off, reluctant to answer me.

For a while, we just sit there, silent. Staring off into the night sky, both lost in our thoughts. I can't help but wonder what kind of life I would have had, hadn't I been reaped. What kind of life Maia would have. All the tributes we saw on-screen. What kind of lives they would have had.

I wonder who my allies will be, if I have any. I liked the tributes from 9, they seemed decent enough. I need to remember to talk to them during training…

What about Maia?... I like her so far, she's nice enough. Even if she's not so open. Though, somehow, I can't bring myself to look at her as an ally. I can't even see her in the Games! She just seems so… Delicate. Vulnerable.

I doubt she's actually that way. I think it's just her deceitful exterior. For all I know it could be a trained killer to rival any career wrapped under that shy exterior. Or she just could be like me, not even a glimpse of a chance at survival. Though, who knows?

At the moment, definitely not me.

"Would you like to be allies?" I ask, seemingly out of thin air. I barely even considered her as an ally, and here I am, asking her to be mine. I just can't figure myself out today.

Well, guess there's no turning back now. I already asked the question.

She looks at me incredulously, unbelieving. Her countenance becomes calculating, weighing pros and cons in her head. It's almost like bolts and levers are clicking aside in her mind to come up with an outcome. And until she does I just stay silent, waiting for when she's ready to answer. I don't feel like talking that much anyway, I don't really feel like doing anything really. Just sit here, and let time consume me.

A minute or so later she nods, replying silently. I can't help the smile that spreads across my face. At least I won't be alone now. She reciprocates my smile, it lighting up her pale features.

"Allies?" I stretch my hand out towards her.

"Allies." She reassures me, grasping my hand and shaking it.

We sit there for a bit more, quiet. I can feel my eyelids becoming droopy, my brain commanding me to get back to the huge soft bed.

I rise up heavily, stretching myself out and bidding Maia goodnight. She replies quietly and gets up herself. I watch her as she walks carefully into her room and shuts the door. I follow her lead, walking into my dark room and falling underneath the plush blue covers.

I'll be looking forward to working with that girl.

And with that thought I drift off into a dreamless slumber.

* * *

><p>I am awoken by shrill screams and pounding on my door.<p>

The escort is shrieking, "Time to get up! Up, up up!"

I sometimes wish I could mute that woman. Reluctantly, I pull myself out of bed, smoothing out my wrinkled shirt. I shower quicker this time, already having some knowledge of what button does what. I have to say, if I do win and become a victor, I will love having a shower… I love the feeling of hot water on my skin and having an unlimited amount of that same water.

This morning I dress in black pants and a sky blue shirt. My favorite color. It was one of the only bright, natural colors I saw back in District 8. Most of the time it was covered in smog, but once in a while the smog would clear so you could see the sky.

Whenever that happened, I would take it as a sign that it was going to be a good day.

Returning to the real world, I look myself over in the mirror one last time and go to the dining room. I'm the last one here, sitting at the end of the table. Maia is at the other end. The escort is on my left, while the female mentor is to my right, with her partner next to her. I notice that no-one has opted to sit next to the escort. Really, I don't blame them. The escort is blathering away about how wonderful the Capitol will be, directing some of her comments towards me. I think she might be talking about the fashions by now. I guess she remembers my "interest". Great, now I'll have to listen about feathers for hair, perfumes and the latest color of lipstick. Just dandy.

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><p>The escort is done with her food pretty fast. I would expect that, she was shoveling everything into her mouth so fast. I think I just lost my appetite.<p>

Brushing away the revulsion, I try to eat. I'm eating small bites, making sure my stomach doesn't reject anything. Last night I ate too much and regretted it later. Can't have that happening now, I've got a long day ahead of me.

"Okay, we should be arriving in the Capitol somewhere around early evening. Be ready." The female mentor states to us in her clear, loud voice. It's pretty refreshing hearing something other than the escort's squeaking.

"And when the prep team gets a hold of you, don't protest. Just go along with what they do." Her partner adds, looking and Maia and I. We nod in unison.

The rest of breakfast passed by quietly with only the clinking of utensils around us.

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><p>We are left to do whatever we please for the rest of the train ride. I find a forgotten book shelf, filled with dusty old copies. I try reading a couple, trying to calm myself down. Nonetheless, I'm just as restless as before. My foot is tapping the floor continuously, I'm cracking my knuckles every couple minutes.<p>

Eventually I give up on the books and go look out the window. The surroundings are passing too quickly for me to realize what they are, until we reach a tunnel. The train turns pitch black for a couple seconds, alerting me.

Once out of the tunnel, all the bright lights blind me for a couple seconds. When my vision clears out, I am _amazed_. I never thought something could be this bright…

The Capitol is lit up with myriads of lights, every building reflecting them. The buildings are taller than I thought you could ever make a building. How aren't they crashing down? Creatures with bizarrely colored skin and hair are bustling around on the narrow streets, the size of ants.

Now I know: it's time to fight with all I've got in me.


	16. Capitol Rooms Part Two

**A/N: **I'm going to make this brief. Very brief. Not because I don't like the author of this district, or even the tribute, but because I need the toilet desperately. Too much information? I thought so. These are the Capitol rooms part 2 by Sallen (D12 Male). Now I hand you over. Go!

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><p><strong>Clude Miller - Capitol Rooms Part 2<strong>

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><p>Being from District Twelve becomes a real unbelievable statement when all you've seen before is just a gathering of miners and coal. Among the mercantile class you'll find traders and such. It's relatively petite compared to other districts, and no one ever expects to see a tribute from Twelve experience victory. We're often killed off before the final eight comes up.<p>

But when the Capitol's gleaming buildings filled my eyes, it was a miracle. It was _all_ a miracle, even when our escort, Karina, guided Tara and I to the Training Center. The other tributes were, well, a significant different bunch. One boy, with reddish hair, seemed like a problem. Others, like some girl with blond hair and blue eyes, gave me a merchant's kid feel.

_Great, another reminder of Twelve._

Karina, of course being from the Capitol, is quite the abnormal citizen. Like most Capitol residents, she is within the bubbly category. Every time I had seen her on the Training Rides to the Capitol she was in a different terrifying outfit. _Every_ time. She had a dead bird on her head once… _Too_ creepy.

The rooms were kind of nice though.

No, it's not like it's the greatest treasure in Panem, but the rooms are significantly enhanced than the ones the districts own. If, you manage to even get a house. There _are_ the unlucky few. One, possibly the only, good thing is that we're somewhat near the top of the structure. I'm not entirely sure why, but I like it higher up. Staying in this room became the natural desire for me.

"Be prepared for the Chariot Rides tomorrow, you two," Karina had pressed when she dropped us off to our rooms. "And supper will be soon. I will come find you both for that. Don't want you getting lost!" As an escort, her employment was to keep us on time. And she proposes it well.

Since then, I've just rest on the cushions of the bed. Waiting, thinking, whatever floats your boat when-only about an hour later- Karina rushes back to rally Tara and me. She knocks piercingly on both of our doors, presumably making sure we weren't asleep or anything.

I groan lowly so she can't hear, and throw a pillow over my face. I could suffocate myself… Nah… I jump out of the bed, and toss the pillow back on it. It surprises me how soft it is….

I open the door just a crack to see her scowling face. Karina…

She looks somewhat like a zombie. Her face… I don't know if it was _way_ too much make up or something, but it's so pale. Her black puffy dress has a few layers of feathers and beads. Her hair is done a tight bun, and she wears an old dark hat that has nothing but thin straw and shells. At least, I think they are shells…

"Come now," Karina shouts through the thick wood of the entrances. "Supper is already done, and you both need to be there as soon as possible!" Her voice seems to be ringing.

She walks a bit in place and soon stops to glance at something else in the hallway. When she's out of view I'm able to make out the faint _clicks_ of Karina's heels as she taps her foot in waiting. _Click_, _click_, and_ click_.

I sigh, eluding the thought of being late. Karina would have a fit for sure. When I slide out of my room, Karina is already glaring at Tara's door. "Come now, Tara! I don't want to see another nose bleed when you come out!" This woman is real uptight…I seal the door shut, somewhat trying to be silent.

Tara comes out only moments after I do. As soon as I see her, I'm reminded of her telling me that we could train ourselves. Not be allies, but train. I kind of do want to be allies with her. Not only are we district allies, but going into the arena unprepared sounds awful. Going in it alone actually terrifies me…

Karina shakes off a fallen feather from her dress. Sighing, she says, "I can't believe how you two take forever to come out. How hard is to unlock the doors and step outside?"

We're from Twelve. We have not met our mentor- which we may not even have. And we have one of the worst people you could possibly have to escort us. I don't know about Tara, but I've never touched a weapon in my life as far as I can remember. Exactly what am I looking forward to in the arena? Death? I don't even think District 12 has even had a victor before…

"You both look pretty… unusual as well," Karina interrupts my thoughts. She looks at us in disgust, scrunching up her stubby nose. She makes her way down the hall, and is soon followed by Tara and me.

_Oh, so _we_ look strange? _

Tara doesn't say anything to Karina. And I want to. _So_, badly. But I can't, and I won't. Maybe because Karina will have to be the one to sort the sponsors. You know, if someone even wants to sponsor us.

When we arrive to the dining room, it's pretty different from what I'm used to. Well, it's maybe a bit too _much_ different. I'm from the Seam, and so is Tara, so the sight _is_ pretty sweet.

Already seated are two Capitol residents. They're both relatively young. One a male, the other a female. Hopefully, these two are pretty normal-which they look like- and not total freaks. If they're our stylists, I'm not into the mood for wearing some kind of costume that makes me look _utterly_ stupid. It's happened before… _many_ times before…

After everyone's seated, the feast begins. And it really _does_ begin. That meaning, there are so many dishes that it's like you could feed the entire Seam dinner. While Karina and our stylists chat about people I've never heard, I only talk to Tara. Somehow, I feel closer to her than anyone else I've talked to. It's a bit strange, really.

"So," I begin easily. "When training begins, we try to help each other out?" I mentally kick myself. Somehow, I feel like I'm about to go insane. It feels as if I still haven't grabbed on to reality yet. As if we aren't going into the arena. As if we're not in the Capitol, the one place I've always dreaded, at this moment.

She nods, "And hopefully before training and everything. As long as we become more prepared for the Games we should have a better chance. If we can't help with fighting techniques, maybe other skills like on survival."

"I don't know much about anything but flowers and berries. That's not much help…"

"I'm good at identifying plants, too, actually. That's how we got most meals back home, from my gathering of them. As for killing people... I'm not very skilled in that field."

"Same here," I tell her. I still don't tell her about my inexperience with weapons. "If one of us manages to get an ally, perhaps they'll have that kind of knowledge…"

There's a bit of an awkward silence moment between us.

She smiles, "Being here and all, it's real… _unique_. From Twelve at least. Maybe the Careers had it like this before." I'm glad she started up the conversation again. I couldn't think of anything to say at that point.

"Here _everyone_ knows _everything_ about us. They may or may not care, but eventually the Capitol knows. Basically, there is no privacy… _We're_ the tributes; _we're_ the center of attention."

Tara's face goes a bit pale, "Yes," She says quietly.

I said something wrong, didn't I? I practically blow everything… _Another mental kick…_

"No worries though," I assure her, or at least try to. I'm not very successful at comforting…. "No one really pays attention to tributes from the lower districts. They are all in for the Careers, and sometimes if there is drama in other districts. They eat it all up." I grumble the rest, "They really only care for the psychotic and mentally unstable tributes. There are a bunch of those homicidal ones around."

It kind of surprises me at how much I'm talking. I don't usually say a lot… It must have irritated Tara when she came in my room during the Train Rides….

Tara is about to reply when Karina shouts over the table. I actually feel real bad for Tara. She's so sweet, but… "You two haven't even touched your food!"

At first, I flinch. I didn't expect Karina to even pay attention to us. She seemed so busy gossiping. Not to mention, she's had to say something about disliking us before. It's the typical Escort Motto for District 12.

Tara's gray eyes lower to her plate. There's not much there; I hadn't even realized we weren't eating. It must have slipped my mind.

"We were," I tell Karina a bit more softly than intended. "We just weren't…" _Hmm, lying can be a bit hard… _"…hungry,"

"You both are from District Twelve. There's no fooling around with that!"

_So we're from Twelve… Really, I had _no_ idea…._

"If they're not hungry, so be it, Karina," The female stylist states. Maybe she's not entirely like the freaks she's surrounded by. Most of the Capitol is that way.

Karina glowers at Tara and me. Then, she takes a deep breath, "We can't have you two showing up to the Opening Ceremony looking like savaging mutts,"

_Thank you for that exhilarating compliment._

Karina looks away, "But… if you're not hungry, I suggest you go to bed." _It might have killed her inside to say that so calmly._ "The Ceremony starts early tomorrow,"

She actually forces a smile. Teeth and everything… Now, just _what_ changed her attitude right there?

I find myself crossing my fingers for some unknown reason under the table. I really don't like Karina. But she's from the Capitol isn't she?

_I now want to spit in her tea in the morning…_

But, that would be wrong, _wouldn't_ it?

I simply get out of my chair without another word. Making the slightest sound appears like death now. I don't know why, but it does. A lot of things don't make since to me at the moment…

_Like the fact that I'm envying tomorrow to come._


	17. Chariot Rides Preperation

**A/N: **I'm going to make up for last chapter's *ahem* shortness in an A/N by writing a super-duper long A/N about how wonderful Maia is... ha! I caught you out there, didn't I? You thought I'd be the type to spend hours warbling about Maia's super ninja skills and this new move she developed when an enemy backs her by a wall, she runs at the wall, does a backflip over the enemy while snatching their weapon and then backs them into the wall. You thought I was going to boast about how Maia is just generally amazing and the best tribute that ever graced this earth and how she's definitely going to win and is genuinely amazing and really flexible and heartfelt and brilliantly written and illustrated. You thought I was going to spend ages droning on and on about Maia's sleek hair pushed back into a bun, her upright posture, her paper pale skin, her chestnut brown eyes, her elegant figure? You thought that? Well you were wrong! Instead I'm going to spend forever talking about this chapter's author... LegendOfZeldaFreak (D9 Female)... yeah. Erm... back to Maia shall we? Did I mention that she- oh okay, on with the chapter. ;)

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><p><strong>Phoenix's AN: **As well as a quirky a fun note today in which Snev waffles on about how awesome Maia is without knowing that she's doing it, we have something a bit more serious.  
>Most of us hadn't met each other before this fanfiction, and since then we've formed connections to each other through our subsequent plannings, and more often then not—our rambling "therapy" sessions. Most of us have problems with anxiety, depression, or the like, whether it be with ourself or with other people we know—so we talk it out with each other in our forum. And there's one person that's always there, zxskunkmuffinxz. We call him nicky dear, or dear one. Apart from Snev, who just calls him muffin for some bizarre reason. His timing is impeccable—he just knows how to make you feel better whether it's by threatening to pummel someone's arse or just talking. That's just the type of guy he is.<br>After an extended holiday absence, where his vibrant presence was missed, we found out that Nicky was in the hospital. He'd protected a girl he didn't' know from some bullies around New Years—who promptly ganged up on him like the despicable human beings they are. For his trouble, he has some broken ribs and other injuries that required surgery.  
>So we'd like you to keep in mind our friend, our confidant, and our protector zxskunkmuffinxz as he heals through this. And we thank him for being the kind of guy, who's there for you even if he doesn't know you. We need more people like that in this world.<p>

-Phoenix Refrain on behalf of all of us 24 authors.

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><p><strong>Zelda's AN**: *peeks around corner* Okay, I'm aware some people*cougheveryonecough* didn't like my previous chapter, so this one is better. I think it's actually one of my best pieces of writing.

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><p><strong>Chariot Rides Preparation - Sapphire Tree<strong>

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><p><em>"I think about how much I miss her, and start to feel sorry for myself...but then I think about all the people who never got the chance to meet her, and I start to feel sorry for them." -Unknown<em>

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><p>The first thing I'm aware of is the sharp pain in my head. Maybe I rolled off my comfortable Capitol bed onto the ground, I don't know. It's odd though. How could I ever have slept last night? I got reaped. I'm not stupid. I know I'm going to die, probably painfully. Then the full memory of last night hits me like a ten pound brick. My crying until I was so utterly exhausted I passed out.<p>

The pain starts to hurt even more and a low moan escapes my dry lips. I finally decide it's for the best if I stand up and get my clothes on for the upcoming day. But when I open my green eyes, it's not what I expect. I'm on a mountain. I'm near the top on a ledge, dangerously close to the side. I instinctively stumble away from the edge, only to fall into a freezing stream. I scream and fling my arms about until I realize I can stand. My cheeks go the color of a ripe apple as I stand up and look around. I see an orange sleeping bag over leaning up against a tree with a black bag next to it. It looks oddly familiar and I can't quite put my finger on what it is. Then, like a candle that just got started in my brain, it clicks. In the twenty-first Hunger Games, my sister Jade Tree got reaped. The arena was a mountain. And _this _was her hiding spot.

My brain goes blank as I try to register this new fact. First of all, I was in the past. It didn't seem logical. But everything was exactly the same. I start chewing on my short fingernails, a very bad habit I seemed to take up about a year ago. My nervous biting comes to an abrupt end, however, when a blonde streak pops out from the tree. I slowly climb out of the stream onto a different ledge before squinting my eyes at the object. I must have been imagining it, though, because I can't see anything. I turn around gradually, still not believing I imagined it.

After fully turning around, a quiet thump sounds behind me, right where I thought I saw something. I swiftly turn around to see the impossible. A girl about my age is standing there, moving here head from side to side, looking for people who are hunting her. Her hair is a bright yellow, probably what I saw earlier, and her skin is tan. Her eyes, though, are a chocolate brown. This girl is my deceased sister Jade Longings Tree. My eyes widen as I call out, "Jade!" My feet take control of themselves as I stumble forward.

Jade doesn't move an inch. I call out her name again for the same results. I finally reach my sister and shake her arm. Or at least try to. As soon as my short arm comes in contact with her's, it passes through like I'm a ghost. I pull my arm back and stare at the palm of my hand in wonder, knitting my eyebrows. _How...? _I think, shaking my head in confusion. I'm still thinking about this when I hear the deep growl behind us.

I turn around quickly in unison with Jade and face the monster. It's a Elecwol, a mutt we make back in district nine. It's shaped like a panther, just a little bit larger. It's completely pitch black dark lined with teal lines of electricity and it's eyes glow blue like nothing I have ever seen before. The claws on it's front and back paws are injected with poison that makes you lay there in pain, knowing you will die, for an hour. It's teeth are razor sharp, not to mention the fact that they are electric. The Elecwol can run up to sixty miles per hour. They were one of the uncommon mutts in the old rebellion, the Capitol using them as a sort of guard dog. They follow one voice and it's impossible to make them stop the task given to them, well, besides killing them.

Jade gasps and fumbles around, trying desperately to get some sort of weapon. The Elecwol is advancing ever so slowly, as if it wants to give Jade the false hope that just maybe she could survive this encounter. Instead of running, Jade does the idiotic move of taking out her only weapon, her scimitar. She holds it out in front of herself in defense, but her eyes give away that she is scared out of her wits. I fling myself in front of Jade and hold my arms out in both directions, but it doesn't work. The mutt goes right through me and soars right above Jade, it's mouth aimed right at her head...

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><p>I sit up quickly and take quick, nervous breaths. It was just a nightmare. I wipe the sticky sweat off my forehead and look across my luxurious room to see the little numbers that stated the time. I groan and slam my head back on my pillow, covering my eyes with my arm. It's six a.m. My mentor, Lila Nara, told me that I was to meet her for a lesson at six thirty. That meant none of the Capitol's food. I personally don't think Lila was being fair at that part.<p>

After laying there for a couple minutes, I come to the conclusion that I will not be able to go back to sleep anytime soon. I throw off my covers and rise out of my bed. I walk slowly over to the closet and take out a plain orange shirt and black capris. I go to the bathroom for a shower but quickly discover I have absolutely _no _idea how to work it. I stare at it for a second before pressing random buttons and pulling different levers. My shower ends up with the water freezing cold. As I try to keep warm, shampoo sprays me in the head, almost knocking me over. I stare at the place where it came out, wondering what was going on in the minds of the people who invented this. It was my mistake, because before I can turn around, soap sprays me in the eyes, making me screech in pain and making me go blind. I hold onto the wall and press buttons until the water turns off for good.

I reach out and grab a soft towel and dab my eyes quickly. The result is me being able to see once again but my eyes still burn like they're on fire. I shake my head and step out to get dressed. Once that is done, I walk back into my room and start brushing my hair. At the same time, I go over to where I can order food and ask for french toast with some greasy sausage and chocolate milk. Last night, I had chocolate milk and fell in LOVE with the sweet liquid. The breakfast appears soon after I order and I pick up one of the tiny sausages and stick it in my mouth. While gnawing on it, I turn around to look at the time again.

The sausage almost falls out of my hand. I dash forward, turn the knob on the door and run down the hall. Seven o'clock. I reach the dark corner where Lila's room is located and knock three times fast. The door immediately opens and a tall, brunette woman stands there, scowling at me. "You're late," Lila spits out at me.

I stand there awkwardly, looking at the floor. "Uh, I got distr-" I start, but Lila doesn't want to hear any of my excuses. She crosses the room and sits down on a deep red chair, crossing her legs in a lady-like manner. She starts picking at her fingernails assuming I would apologize. When I don't, she looks up and glares at me harder.

"Listen, _Sapphire," _she states, making my name sound as if it were an insult to me, "being late won't help you. Not at all. Actually, if you think about it, when your in the games, are you going to _want_ to be late?"

I shake my head furiously while still looking at the floor. She points her chin in the air and strides back over to me. She grabs my shoulder with a tight grip and slams the door shut. "I'm going to tell you the truth, Miss Tree. Everyone else in these Games are exciting, have some flair in their past or present." She stops walking around in a circle around me. "And quite frankly, you are boring. You aren't ugly, per se, but you aren't pretty either." She holds a hand to her forehead like she's in great pain. "Why do _I _always get these kind of tributes?" she asks herself, shaking her head in wonder.

I have the biggest blush in history covering my face rapidly. Tears well up in my eyes and I try to keep them away. _Cry baby! Stand up for yourself! _I think to myself, but I don't do anything at all. Lila turns around and screeches, "Look me in the eye when I'm talking to you, you little brat!"

I raise my head quickly, raising my arm to wipe away the tears. She grabs my arm with her two fingers and doesn't let me move. "Aw, did I make the little baby sad?" she asks with mock sympathy. "Well too bad!" she snaps through gritted teeth. "You're hopeless! If you're going to cry every time I say something, I don't want to see you... Get out of my sight!"

I stare at her in shock for a second before grabbing the knob of the door and sprinting down the hall, not shutting the door behind me which earns a cry of anger from Lila. I reach my room and lay down on my bed in silence. I lay there for a couple minutes, hugging myself, before falling back into a dreamless slumber.

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><p>When I finally wake, I feel like, well, crap. My head feels as if on fire, my throat is achy, my nose is stuffed up, and I have a horrible earache. I want to curl over and sleep again until it all goes away, but looking at the time tells me I must get up or I would be late for the stylist (not that I would mind, but you know, sponsers). I want to at least brush my almost, I reach up and touch my mouth, slimy teeth. I did own a toothbrush back in district nine, but I hadn't brushed my teeth since I had arrived on the train. It made me feel nasty.<p>

I jumped out of bed with absolutely _no _energy and walked almost lazily to the bathroom. I get to the sink and slam my head against the white counter. Pain sears up harder through my head and I give out a weak moan. This just was NOT my day. Oh, how I would give anything to sleep...

I catch myself just as I am about to fall down from exhaustion. I give a feeble attempt at shaking away the sleepiness by shaking my head and try to put all and any thoughts of sleep to the back of my mind. I hear the sound of my door opening and I look over there to see Ogden. He's smiling, as usual, but looks at me in a sad manner. "Aw, you're already awake! I wanted to scare you awake! Anyway, Sapphire, you're to come and get ready for the chariot ride!"

I nod and we head out the door. Ari is waiting outside, looking ready and alert, but looks as if he doesn't want to be here. I don't blame him. Every year we have disgusting costumes. Usually they're some kind of mutt, you know, us being the mutation district. That sounds like fun and dandy and all until you see the actual costume. They usually look like a fake copy, nothing like the real deal. I sigh softly and we head down the spacious hallway to the exit of the building.

Once we step outside, the light hits me and I'm momentarily blinded. I look at the ground and try to block out the light in an attempt of making my eyes burn less. Eventually we get in some kind of vehicle, I didn't see quite what it was, though. The ride is boring with Ogden talking the whole time about nothing at all. The next thing I know, I'm being ushered into a room with all different sorts of gadgets I can't even think of the name of.

I sit down on a stiff blue chair to wait for my prep team but I don't have to wait long. As soon as I take my seat, the room's lights go all the way off and I can't see my hand in front of my face. All of the sudden, I'm hearing a feminine voice screeching in a Capitol accent, "Sapphire! It's so good to meet you!"

A spotlight goes on a hideous looking female woman. She has purple hair that is tilted out to the left side. Her skin has been dyed a deep green that reminds me of when we would get fresh grass that was wet from rain. The eyes freaked me out. Apparently, she had some freak surgery to have the pupils removed, so all that's left of her eyes is a big blue space. She's wearing a tight, bright orange dress that is in a mermaid style. She sticks her hand out at me, smiling a smile that reveals bright red teeth. "My name is Miss Rainbow!"

I cautiously reach my hand out and shake her hand, almost gagging at how it feels like jelly. Before Miss Rainbow can say anything else, a manly voice says from the opposite side of the room, "Hello. I'm Erif Emalf, but please, call me Erif." The spotlight goes on a man who looks a teensie bit more normal than Miss Rainbow. His skin is tinted a bright yellow and his hair is red and orange mixed together, reminding me of a fire. Miss Rainbow claps her hands and the lights go back on. She giggles and looks at me with a look of pure pleasure.

"My, that was fun! I ordered the lights like that just for this occasion!" she screams with delight. "Now, let's have a looksies!"

She studies me for a moment before taking a pair of pliers and coming back over to me. "Now, I'm just going to have to pull a few teeth..." She opens my mouth before I can react and rests the pliers on one of my back teeth. She pulls roughly and I grip the chair like a maniac, resisting the urge to cry out in pain. I soon fail though, screaming and crying. She pulls back, holding my bloody tooth in one hand. "Erif, could you get the poor girl a towel for her blood?"

I seriously never thought I would hear someone say that so innocently. Erif goes over, grabs a paper towel and throws it at me. Of course, me being me, I fail in catching it, but I scramble up and retrieve it from the ground. I wipe my mouth in disgust, still tasting the coppery taste. "Um, are we done?" I squeak. Miss Rainbow gives me a sympathetic look.

"Oh, Sapphire, that was just the beginning!" She says, nodding up and down, making her lips form in a pouty-manner. I have no idea by "just the beginning", but I have a very sick feeling I really do _not _want to find out soon.

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><p>I shudder, sitting in the chair. I was, to say the least, in pain. Miserable, horrible pain. Add that onto my sickness, and BAM! You have what I'm feeling like. The stylist was supposed to be in here any minute so I tried to keep myself awake. And doing a horrible job of it, too. I don't know how I woke up to see Lila this morning, seriously. I lean back and am in the most comfortable position <em>ever<em>, just thinking nice thoughts...

I'm bolted awake by the sound of the door opening. A woman in her late twenties is standing there with a smile that brings competition to Ogden. That is, until she get's a real good look at me. Then her face sets a look of disgust. "I got _you_?" she says, the hate for me evident in her squeaky voice.

I swallow hard and nod once. "Ugh!" she yells, throwing her bag of random supplies on the tiled ground. "I thought I got your district partner, Mari!"

I snort and am about to correct her when she comes over and grabs my face, making my cheeks scrunch up. "Well," she thinks out loud, "I could... Alright, Sapphire, I can work with you. I guess." After this, she looks at me as if she expects me to get down on my knees and thank her over and over for her generosity. Instead of this, I just nod.

She scowls at me but looks in the green bag she brought in. She gasps and pulls out something with a white cover on it. "No! I got the wrong bag! This is Allee's! Oh yeah... I have you. Which means I have the correct bag." She tells me to close my eyes and I do this willingly. She ends up dressing me in a soft costume. I hope for the best.

She leads me over to where I can assume a mirror is and tells me to open my eyes. I do, and the costume surprises me. I look like a black panther, my body all in black and a sort of panther head on my head (Which I'm pretty sure is fake...). All in all, I think she's dressing me up as a mutt, but I have no idea which one. As if she can see the confusion written on my face, she says, "Put these on." She hands me a pair of teal glasses.

I put them on and she presses a switch on them. My vision goes a little fuzzy but I can see in the mirror it looks like my eyes are glowing blue. I have a bad feeling about this... "To symbolize the district nine's uniqueness, this year you and Mari are dressing up as a not-so-known mutation, the Elecwol!"

I'm pretty sure I start crying, then that turns to sobbing. The woman looks at me. "What? Did I do something wrong? I like it!" She turns back to the mirror with a triumphant look on her face. She quickly turns back to me though. "Listen here, Sapphire. Smile, wave. Smile, wave. All you have to do. And stop crying! It's not that bad! Now come on!" She grabs my hand and leads me back outside to where a wooden chariot is sitting.

"This is your chariot. Remember my instructions. Okay?" She walks me over and I sit up on the chariot. Ari soon follows after me, looking uncomfortable in his Elecwol suit. I wipe away the tears and look ahead of me. By far, this was the worst costume. I see the district one chariot take off, followed by a roar of approval by the Capitol citizens outside. Then the rest of the chariots follow, and the next things I know district nine is next. Then my sleepiness hits me full force, and I can't stay awake. Just as the sunlight hits my eyes, I fall off the chariot asleep.


	18. Chariot Rides

**A/N: **I remember thinking "who's doing the chariot rides?" at one point in the depthed past. I mean, it's a key point in the whole story, isn't it? You've got many, many, many different tributes, stylists, and of course the bizarre costumes (well, they certainly are bizarre. Anyone who's been onto the official 24 tributes 24 authors website - link's on our profile - will know that). What more could you want out of the hunger games? Apart from the deaths obviously... and the tears of blood. THE TEARS OF BLOOD! Mwahahahaha! Anyways, this is a delicate part of the preceedings needing the POV of a tribute with empathy, feeling, an observant tribute who's heartfelt, kind, knowledgable, a highly friendly, charismatic, most of all social tribute for this chapter. A tribute just like... Relk Stein! RELK STEIN? Yup guys, that's right, this chapter is brought to you by... Jayfish (D6 Male)!

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><p><strong>Special AN: **Now for something more serious before the chapter starts - In the last chapter we posted news on our fellow author xzskunkmuffinzx, or nicky dear, and we even had one kind soul PM us on this account saying that his story really struck them in their heart - as it did to us all. But I'm afraid the news is worse than before. Nicky dear's condition took a turn for the worse and now he's in a coma in hospital after his body reacted against some blood they used on him in the operation he had. Nick's a really nice guy, and he doesn't deserve this. This is just a note from all of us authors, saying how much we want to wish nicky good health, and how he holds a really special place in our hearts right now. He's been there for us throughout this process, and we've been there for him. And in an act of selfless chivalry he's now in this position. Nick, nicky dear, dear one or muffin as I like to call him, is a really nice guy. He's helped so many of us with our problems. Personally he's helped me live with a seriously depressed friend, and at moments when I felt like breaking down into torrents of tears, and often did, nicky was there. I was going to speak to him today, and ask for his advice and sympathy on something to do with my friend, when I was hit with the news. While I can twist words in many directions I find whenever something like that happens to me, something that makes you feel like your still beating heart has just been ripped out of your chest, something that makes you feel like you're choking on the very air you breathe, I am unable to conjure up a word that shows how I feel. And I can't. Everyone agrees I'd never make a good therapist, and comforting is not my forte, but I know right now that whatever happens I'm going to try for nicky's sake. Because muffin's in a coma, and all twenty-four of us might as well be there with him. The twenty-four of us and everyone else he knows, everyone he's touched. Because I remember these words from somewhere - _a friend is someone who reaches for your hand and touches your heart_. And what else can I use to describe nick? He's reached for our hands and touched all our hearts. He's the kind of guy that there needs to be more of in the world. Like everyone else he has his faults, but doesn't that make him more human? But most importantly he sticks up for what is right, and that's what makes him who he is, who he is to himself, to his friends and family, and to us. Because nicky dear holds a special place in all of our hearts. And each and every one of us who has even held a short conversation with him is hoping, begging, praying, that nicky will get better. Because if he doesn't, it truly is an unjust world out there. So, even though I have probably no right to seeing as I haven't written this chapter and I'm only the second-in-command, I dedicate this chapter to nick, our dear one, in hope that he'll pull through this. This chapter is dedicated on behalf of all of us twenty-four authors, as I know every single one of us would do the same thing.

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><p><strong>Relk Stein (D6 Male) by Jayfish<strong>

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><p>"Oh, Relk," my stylist says breathily, shoving me into the chariot absentmindedly. "You look so adorable."<p>

I resist the urge to snap at her, choosing instead to pluck another hard candy from her headband. Strangely enough, Kykis seems to have a thing for wearing outfits made of food. I've known her for about an hour, and she's had to change outfits around thirty times, seeing as I keep on eating most of her dresses and things. What? The first one was made of cake, and after that I sort of just got into the habit off snacking off of Kykis when I get hungry, or snappy. It works.

"The ride isn't even starting yet," I mutter, trying to sidle past her. Her eyes gleam, and before I can escape she's pinching one of my cheeks and making a high-pitched squealing sound that makes her sound like a bat.

"I can't wait to see you out there!" she gabbles, her eyes animated. "You look _so cute _in your little outfit! _So cute!_"

"No I don't," I grumble, picking at the suit made of dark-colored herbs, woven so tight that they weave seamlessly over my chest. Cautiously, I pluck one of the herbs from the suit and stick it in my mouth, before wrinkling my nose and spitting it out. Kykis' dress tastes better, so I reach a hand for her sash and scrape off some black tar-like stuff that Kykis called licorice earlier. It's way better than anything I ever had in District Six. To be truthful, the Capitol's much better than Mom ever was about food.

She looks hurt. "You don't like it?"

I sigh, rolling my eyes. "Yeah, whatever. I love it." Her eyes light up and she jumps up and down, obviously failing to notice the heavy sarcasm dripping from my words. If she weren't so stupid, maybe I'd be a little less mean; she's really pretty and she seems to like me. But she's _so weird _about food, always complaining about being fat or something. She and I could never be closer than stylist and tribute.

Never mind. I'm sure I'll find a beautiful, pleasantly podgy girl after I win the Games. She'll live with me in my house at the Victor's Village, and we'll feed each other cake every night before going to bed, and laugh at the gross starving kids that range around the district. Especially my "friends," the ones who left me to die in the Games. Not that I'm going to die, of course.

Kykis is still in a blissful reverie, so I manage to slip past her and pad out of the chariot, not really heading anywhere. There are plenty of tributes for me to look at, but none of them seem to have any edible outfits. It annoys me to no end. The only other person with an edible outfit seems to be Rena, and it's made of the same woven herbs that I have. Currently, she's leaning against our purple chariot, watching everything go by. I sidle up to her, trying to be sneaky. It doesn't work.

"What do you want, Relk?" she asks, sounding annoyed. No point in asking for her dress; I'll have to distract her while I pull off a bit. It's not like she needs it, anyway, and maybe her herbs are better than mine.

"Oh, nothing," I say nonchalantly, casually leaning against the chariot and sneaking my fingers towards her. She notices me right when I make it to the hem of her very short dress, and snatches my hand.

"Relk? What are you _doing_?" she exclaims, looking mildly horrified.

There's no other choice: cue the blubber instinct. "I'm _hungry_," I whine, letting my dull eyes fill up with tears. Rena sighs heavily; the entire train ride I sent her back and forth getting food for me from the panels until she locked me in my room, so this shouldn't be the massive surprise she's making it out to be.

"Look, Relk," she says, taking my shoulder and giving me a firm but gentle shove. "You see that girl over there? The one covered in sponges? I bet that those are edible!"

My eyes widen. Edible? I hadn't realized! The girl looks horrific, of course, but perhaps Rena is right; the sponges may indeed be edible. "Thanks, district partner lady!" I exclaim, hurrying towards the girl covered in sponges as fast as my feet can carry me. By the time I reach her, I have to pause and take several deep breaths, leaning against District Eight's multicolored chariot. The girl gives me an odd look. "Um," she says, narrowing her eyes slightly. "Hello."

I give her my best smile, which makes her cringe. "Can I have your hat?" I ask, getting straight to the point.

Her hand drifts up to her cylindrical sponge-hat gracefully, and her eyes narrow more. "I-I'm sorry, but…" she stammers. "But I need it."

My stomach gives a plaintive growl. "Well, so do I," I reply. "So hand it over."

If this girl is surprised at all to be getting orders from a small thirteen-year old, she doesn't show it. "Look, uh—what's your name?"

"Relk. Relk Stein. The most popular boy in District Six."

She gives me an odd look. "Maia Spring," she says. "Anyhow, Relk, I really need this for my costume. And if I don't wear it I think my stylist will, well, probably kill me or something. I'm really sorry, um, what do you need it for?"

"Food," I reply, straight-faced.

The corners of her lips turn up in a smile. "Relk," she says. "You can't eat this."

I gasp. "So Rena was _lying _to me? How could she?"

Maia is saved from having to respond to this by the girl from District Two, sweeping past with her district partner. They are both dressed in tight one-pieces that are shiny and reflective. I see a bloated, distorted image of me in the girl's flat stomach as she passes me, saying something to the boy in an annoyed tone and rolling her eyes, gesticulating wildly.

"I-I don't really like her. It's like there's something, something wrong with her. Like s-she enjoys this o-or something," Maia says, the words rolling off her tongue as if they were by accident.

I shrug. "Whatever. I don't care. Do you have any food?"

Maia shakes her head. "No."

"Bye, then," I say, not interested in spending time with her. If she's going to be boring and foodless, then she's not worth my time. I saunter forward, glancing at the outfits out of the corner of my blue eyes, searching for something I can eat. The golden chariot from District Eleven catches my attention; it appears that the tributes are wearing outfits made out of corn stalks. Definitely not delicious in any way, but I'm so hungry that I don't really give a damn.

The girl from Eleven is sitting on the edge of the chariot, eyes darting around the stables. She appears to be analyzing her soon-to-be-competition. Her eyes flit on me, and I wonder what she's thinking. Probably about how difficult a contender I'll be.

I don't like her appearance. Another gross, skinny freak. Seriously, how many of these types of people are there? I sniff as I walk up to her, reaching out for the hem of her dress. Before I can grab on, she has my wrist in an iron grip, not even bothering to look up. "What do you think you're doing?"

My palm begins to sweat; this girl is quite strong. But she's no match for Relk Stein. "I'm eating your dress," I say. "It doesn't look good on you anyway."

Her head swivels to look at me, and she drops my hand. "You," she says, "are repulsive. Get out of here."

I flush with anger. "How dare you?" I exclaim, taking a step forward. "I'm _Relk Stein_! Do you not understand who you're talking to?"

She looks me over coolly before turning around, clearly dismissing me. I growl and walk across to the other side of the chariot and face her. "Hey!" I exclaim. "You can't ignore me."

"Watch me," she says, turning around again. I hurry to get to the other side of the chariot, but by the time I do she has swiveled yet again. I'm already panting, and I don't think I can keep up with this, so I pause, glaring darkly at her corn husk-clad back. Before she can turn around, I take my revenge; grabbing the back of the dress and tearing off a fistful of corn husks. The girl gives a sharp gasp and turns around, eyes blazing as her fingers strain for the fist-sized hole I made in the back of the dress. "What the hell?" she exclaims, jumping off the chariot and stalking towards me sinuously. Time to make my exit; _not _that I'm scared, of course. Stuffing the corn husks into my mouth, I take a step back and stumble into the girl from Two, who has apparently walked all the way over here. She glances from the angry Eleven girl to me, and then sneers, pushing me off and walking away, still telling her no doubt boring story to her district partner. The girl from Eleven looks after her for a split second; all the time I need. By the time she has turned around, I am long gone; hightailing it over to the District Six chariots for cover.

Only there's a bit of a problem. I'm a fast runner when it comes to retreating, but I'm not watching where I'm going, exactly. And so I run directly into a horse; the District Seven horse, to be precise. I hit the ground hard, and the horse looks down at me in what might be contempt before shifting its hoof and (accidentally?) kicking me in the forehead.

Lights explode in my brain. Dimly I hear shouting, but it's too far away to pay any attention to. And then a musical voice is bringing me back to reality, dragging me to the surface of the darkness. "_Relk," _it sings. _"Open your eyes, Relk."_

I open them, because the angel told me to. The angel in question turns out to be Rena, standing over me with a concerned look on her face, her lips half parted. Funny how I never noticed how pretty she was before. I can't really help it when my lips open and a babble of incoherent words pour from my lips. "Rena!" I cry. "Beautiful Rena! Illustrious, enrapturing, bodacious Rena!"

Rena's expression is borderline horrified. "Oh, gosh," she says. "Something must have happened to you when the horse kicked you. I need you to remain calm, alright, Relk?"

"Calm?" I ask, as she pulls me to my feet. "I'm calmer than I've ever been, especially with you holding me, my sweet angel!"

Rena appears to be calling for doctors. Kykis rushes over, and instinctively I snatch some candy and offer some to Rena. Suspiciously, she takes a piece. "_Ohmigosh!" _Kykis is squealing. "Man down! We've got a man down here!"

The glow from being kicked in the head fades, and everything snaps back into focus. "I'm not _down_, Kykis," I say, crossing my arms over my chest. "I'm standing up."

Rena looks relieved. "Looks like you're back to normal," she says, "although I never thought I'd be happy about that…"

I turn to her quizzically. "Back to normal?" I ask. "What does _that _mean?"

She looks embarrassed. "Well," she says, pulling me into our chariot. "Just five seconds ago you were sort of… confessing your undying love to me."

"Oh!" I laugh. "Right. That hasn't changed; no need to worry."

Her eyes seem to bug out of her skull. "So," she says slowly. "Are you seriously saying that a blow to the head made you fall in love with me?"

I shrug. "I don't know about a blow to the head," I say, "but we're definitely together now." She makes a sound of exasperation. "Relk, I'm sixteen."

"And I'm thirteen," I say. "Problem?"

"I'm too old for you."

"Not really."

"Yes really."

"No."

She sighs. "Relk, I'm sure we can get you back to normal soon…"

I pout. "I _am _normal. I am still the great Relk Stein, the most popular boy in District Six and probably the most handsome too. The only thing that's changed is you. You are now my consort."

She chokes back a giggle. "I'm really not your consort," she says.

I assume an air of superiority. "No, you are," I say. "I know that you probably think that you're not worthy of being my girlfriend, but it's okay: I'll accept you for what you are. Although you could do with gaining a few pounds…"

Now Rena seems slightly exasperated. "Relk," she says. "Let's get one thing straight: _I am not your girlfriend. _I do not like you, and I never will. Now stop it. The chariots are starting, and we are _not _having this argument in City Circle."

"We can have an argument whenever I feel like it," I say, but shut up because of the dangerous look she's giving me. Don't want to vex my angel too much, after all!

The District One horses are dragging the chariot towards the doors that will lead to the route that will take us to City Circle. With nothing better to do, I watch the tributes. The boy is wearing a diamond-encrusted suit that is messily unbuttoned, as well as dressy pants and shoes. He has a cigarette in his hand that he has poised near his mouth, and as I watch he touches it to his lips and purses them, as if he's sucking on it. I roll my eyes. He looks retarded.

His female counterpart looks even worse than he does. Her form-fitting dress is covered in diamonds to match his suit, and her hair is held back by a pure diamond headband. I don't know if she thinks she's impressing anybody with that outfit, because I can see her for what she is: an idiot.

District One exits, and District Two approaches the doors. I saw the tributes early in their form-fitting reflexive suits. The girl has her arms crossed and has a fierce look on her face, and the guy seems to be emulating her, although the look doesn't work so well with him. Actually, scratch that. They both look like they're trying way too hard, and I hate their outfits. Seriously, they suck.

I laugh out loud at District Three. First of all, they look exactly the same as District Two, only they're wearing black, with green, softly glowing belts. They look sickly and unattractive in the night lights of the Capitol, inducing another giggle from me. Rena shoots me a death glare and my giggles cease, although I'm still laughing at them internally.

The horses from District Four are white and are wearing blue blankets, probably to represent the sea or something lame like that. In fact, that's the word that embodies District Four: lame. The boy is wearing an orange tube-thing that is thrown over his chest and hovers dangerously near his pelvis. What, do his stylists think that underdressing him is attractive? If they do, they're morons, because this costume is the stupidest thing of the night.

His district partner has some sort of scaly dress. Really? That's all you could think of, District Four? _Scales? _Clearly, their stylist wants them to die. The dress reveals a lot of the girl's chest and is quite short, just like the boy's hideous "outfit." She's wearing a headdress with clichéd shells in her hair, and probably thinks that she looks stunning, when the biggest emotion she will induce out of anyone the whole night is boredom.

District Five is pathetic. I'd feel bad for them, if Rena and my chariot hadn't started moving. I only have time for a quick glance at them; the girl is wearing a white dress with sparkling yellow lights in the skirt, and the boy has on a suit studded with the same yellow lights. They look like a freak show.

And then our black horses are pulling us onto the circuit, and I forget about the other tributes. I'll look at their outfits in City Circle. For now, all I can do is wave at the Capitol people. They probably adore me; no, they _definitely _do. I don't hear many cheers of my name, but they're probably simply enraptured in the majesty that is Relk Stein. I nearly get hit in the face by a bundle of roses which Rena catches neatly before handing me one. I smile and wave it at the audience, inducing a couple of cheers. Giving it a sniff, I wonder if it would taste good… but Rena snatches it away and throws it to the crowd before I get the chance to take a bite.

There is a booming voice as we ride into City Circle, announcing our names and districts. The President is probably going to make a speech soon, and it is definitely going to suck. As I couldn't care less about the stupid speech, I look at the electronic billboards high above my head, watching the other tributes carefully. District Seven has trotted into place next to us, and I smirk at their outfits. The boy is dressed like a lumberjack, which pretty much constitutes "weirdo" in my book. He is standing next to the typical tree that is his district partner. What is he trying to do, kill her? Chop her into tiny little pieces? Yuck.

I recognize Maia in District Eight, and her sponge outfit. Her district partner is wearing a suit made of sponges as well, although he doesn't have a hat like Maia's. Maia is staring around City Circle, seeming enraptured by the speech that the President has started, the speech that I am currently ignoring. Her partner seems to be sweating slightly, and looks nervous as hell. Both of them, despite their colorful outfits, seem unnoticeable.

District Nine… Wow. I can't even. They're wearing all black, with glowing blue sunglasses. What are they supposed to be? I don't have any idea what industry District Nine specializes in, but I'm pretty sure that this random outfit has nothing to do with it.

District Ten is imposing, I'll give them that. The metal breastplates and meat cleavers sure are different. The girl is wearing a metal skirt over chainmail, and a breastplate that doesn't quite cover her midriff. She has on a pair of metal cowboy boots, and skewers on her shoulder pads that are obviously fake, as they brush against her district partner occasionally and he doesn't flinch.

Of course, he's wearing armor too, so the skewers might be real. His breastplate is rusty, and like his partner he has chainmail underneath it. He has a belt with meat cleavers attached, the same shoulder spikes as the girl, and metal gauntlets and boots like his partner's.

The thing about their outfits that makes me roll my eyes is the fake blood. Without it, they might be okay, but with it, they look way too dramatic. They're covered in weaponry, meat cleavers, spikes, gauntlets, and to top it off, _fake blood? _The worst part is that the blood doesn't even look that real. It's too bright and red. I realize with a jolt that I'm probably going to find out what real blood looks like soon. It won't be mine, obviously, but the thought is still unnerving.

The girl catches me looking at her in the screen and gives me a glare, so my eyes flit past her bored-looking district partner and rest on my friend from District Eleven. I don't fail to notice the hole I made in the girl's dress, and I smirk a bit. The boy is wearing a suit covered in the corn stalks, and I pout; I could've gotten another meal! Not that it tasted all that good, but still. It's more of the principle of the thing. Anyway, District Eleven is another boring, uninteresting district, and I move to District Twelve.

Ugh. The skimpy baggy jumpsuits on these two tributes leave a lot to be desired. Both of them look uncomfortable, and rightly so; they look horrific. This is why District Twelve never wins the Hunger Games; the tributes always suck, and even when they don't, they get stuck with ridiculous outfits like this.

The chariot jerks and I snatch Rena's hand to keep from falling out. I squeeze a bit harder than I should but to my relief she doesn't let go, although I do see her sigh. I smile; progress. Clearly, Rena is falling hard for me. Well, most people fall for me when they see me, so this isn't surprising. She's just playing hard to get.

The chariots rumble towards the stables, and I spend the entire time daydreaming about the future that Rena and I have together. Let's see… Oh right. She's going to die in the Games. I completely forgot.

Well, there's really only one thing to do in this situation. There'll have to be a rule change. My mother's very close to the Mayor; no doubt she can fix things up so that I can return home with Rena. We'll live in the Victor's Village, eating cake together and laughing at the starving kids, always side by side. Maybe that kick from the horse rattled my head a little bit, but in a good way; it showed me the truth. Rena is my soul mate. Funny that it took a brutal attack from a stupid horse to finally see.

As soon as we make it to the stable, Rena lets go of me and goes immediately to Sirianna, her stylist. I look at my hand for a moment, and then a smile spreads across my face.

Playing hard to get, that's all.

Because Rena Sage is most definitely in love with me.


	19. Chariot Rides Evening

**A/N: **After that last... delicate and - and caring tribute (who's feeding me these lines? I'm gonna improvise...) we come onto the chapter written by (let's play guess who)... A GIANT TRIBBLE! And... no. It's not... what about... A MUTATED ANCHOVY WITH MUTATED SWAG! Erm... nope. An arctic camel? A pan-galactic gargleblaster? A jabber jay? A psychotic mass murderer? Some peary pants? A headless koala? A gerbil on steroids? Yes! That's it! No, no. Not the gerbil on steroids. It's the peary pants. Yes that's right. Today's chapter is written by... PearyPants44 (D4 Male)! Enjoy... I hope.

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><p><strong>Chariot Rides Evening - Moss Dorian (D4 Male) by PearyPants44<strong>

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><p>"<em>So far away from where you are,<em>

_These miles have torn us worlds apart,_

_And I miss you, yeah, I miss you."_

_~ Lifehouse_

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><p>As soon as the District 4 chariot comes to a stop, I hop off and storm towards the elevator that will take me to my room in the training center.<p>

Today I learned just how strange and obnoxious Capitol citizens are. It turns out, Eli Montgomery, my escort, is _normal_. He doesn't do much other than read Capitol magazines and gossip with his friends. He doesn't wear extravagant clothes or dye his skin or any of that crap.

That's the complete opposite of my stylist and prep team. They're all different colors with gems embedded into their body and piercings where piercings should not be. My stylist is the worst out of all of them with his sky blue skin and silver hair.

But my stylist and prep team's appearance isn't what annoys me. It's what they did to me. I had my entire body waxed, stubble shaved, and I was even tanned. Not too much, but still, I'd rather them leave my skin alone.

The thing that irks me the most is my hair. My stylist thought it was a great idea to trim my shaggy brown mess away so you could see my green eyes. They didn't cut much, but it's not as long or nearly as messy anymore how I like it.

To top everything off, I was given the worst chariot outfit in the history of the Games. Apparently, my stylist was pleased when he got a tribute with a great body. He wanted to show it off as much as he could. I was given a tube-like piece of red-orange fabric to wrap around my body. It was designed to look like an octopus' tentacle. The thing is, it was way too short for my liking. I only had enough to throw the tentacle over my shoulder and use the rest to cover my… parts. The Capitol citizens particularly the girls, seemed to love it, though I was totally uncomfortable.

Now you can see why I couldn't wait to have some privacy.

I push open the door of the training center and walk aimlessly around until I find the elevator that should take me to my floor. I press the button to open the doors repeatedly until they finally part, allowing me to step inside.

Even the elevators in the Capitol are elaborate. In every corner, there is a full-length wall mirror. Across from the doors are a cluster of potted plants. The floor and walls seem to be made from pure gold. Not to mention, the space is probably bigger than the room Maris and I share back home.

I turn to my right and look into one of the mirrors. I look like such a man-whore.

Pressing my hand against the glass, I, for the first time, begin to truly miss District 4. At home, if I were to look in the mirror in our bathroom, I'd probably be able to see my innocent little brother, Maris, standing behind me, following me around like he normally does. I was always the one who would comfort him, tell him everything will work out, but now I'm the one who needs comforting. I need my sweet little brother to hug me and tell me I'm the best big brother anyone's ever had.

But I can't have that anymore. I may never be able to feel Maris wrapping his arms around me again. I blew that when I volunteered. Even if I win and succeed in bringing home enough money to transition my family from poverty to riches, I'll be too busy mentoring tributes and dealing with Capitol business to share a meaningful hug with my brother.

In frustration, I scream and slam my fist against the mirror, hoping to shatter it into a million pieces, but the Capitol must have made it with a special, tough metal. My fist bounces off it, not even leaving a dent. The pain envelops my entire hand, but it doesn't bleed.

All I want now is to retreat up to my room in the training center, lie in my bed, and do absolutely nothing.

I've ever been a particularly angry person, but in the Capitol, I don't even feel like Moss Dorian anymore. It's like I'm a completely different teenager. In a rage, I press the button on the elevator labeled '4' and curse when the doors don't close fast enough.

They're finally sliding shut when I see a large, bulky, dark-skinned girl walking angrily towards me. She must be just as pissed as I am about her Capitol experience.

I sigh and figure just because I'm angry at the Capitol right now doesn't mean I have to be rude. Before they can shut, I put my foot in font of the elevator doors and hold them open until she can manage to get inside.

"Thanks," the girl mutters.

"No problem," I mumble right back.

I stare at my feet and she does the same as the doors finally close. I glance up once of twice to get a good look of the girl.

I really should be getting to know names and faces of my opponents. That's why I'm disappointed that I don't recognize her. I wouldn't even know what district she was from if it weren't for her outfit. She's wearing a dress that wouldn't look so bad... if it weren't made out of corn. She must be from District 11. It doesn't take long for me to realize why she's so angry. It looks like someone took a chunk of corn out of the back of her dress.

Slowly, the elevator starts it's ascent. I tap my foot impatiently. I'm only on the fourth floor! How long can it take to get there?

Suddenly, the whole shaft rattles a bit. As the sign above the doors indicates, we're on floor 1. I think it's just stopping to pick someone up, but when the elevator is still for a few minutes, I accept the fact that it must have gotten stuck. What a great way to end my day.

"What a great floor to get stuck on," the girl next to me says sarcastically. I get the feeling she's referencing to something important. Do I pry, or stay silent?

"What do you mean?" I end up asking.

The girl shrugs. "District 1. Who needs it? Can you remember the last time a kid ever had to enter the Games by choice for that district? I can't, because the spot is always filled by a murderous Career."

I can't help but crack a smile. This girl can't be older than 15. She's got some real nerve for someone so young.

"You know what?" I say. She looks up at me with a hint of agitation in her chocolate brown eyes. "I think I like you."

Her expression shifts. She doesn't necessarily seem happier, but less annoyed. "Why?"

I laugh and say. "Career districts. I hate 'em too. What's so special about volunteering just for the pleasure of jabbing a blade through some poor kid's chest? It's just sick."

The girl looks at me disapprovingly. "I recognize you," she starts. "You volunteered too. Care to explain yourself?"

I sigh. The elevator is still stuck.

"I guess we're gonna be here a while," I say. "Might as well get to know each other." I stretch out my hand for her to shake. "Moss Dorian. District 4. 17."

The girl tentatively accepts my handshake. "Lilly Cross. District 11. 14."

"Alright, Lilly," I say. "You should know, I'm not a Career. I mean, any normal person would think I was. I've had training, I volunteered, I'm from District 4. But it's actually the complete opposite."

"Oh?" she says, leaning against the wall across from me.

"Careers are disgusting. The way they get pleasure out of killing other kids…" I shudder. "It makes me sick."

"Well," Lilly says quietly. "I think that makes two of us. Though I have some… _different _reasons."

"And what would they be?" I ask.

"I don't think that's any of your business," she says coldly.

Normally, I'd get offended when someone talked to me like that, but I still like this girl. She seems like cool person.

"Fine," I say, raising my arms in defense. "I won't pry."

We stand there silently for a few more minutes, the elevator still stuck on floor 1. I'm not ready to stop talking to Lilly. I know we've just met, but maybe… maybe we could team up.

"What was your reason?" she asks. "For volunteering I mean."

"Easy," I say. I fight the urge to burst into tears when I think of Maris as well as the temptation to punch the wall out of my anger at the Capitol. "My family needs money. My dad's in a serious depression and can't find the strength to get a steady job. We're living in terrible conditions right now. I thought that, maybe, I could win. Then at least I could bring home food and money to them."

"Them?"

"Oh, right. With my dad is my little brother, Maris. He's only 13."

Lilly nods, showing she understands. We wait a little longer for the elevator to start up and take us to our floors.

"Look," I finally say. I'm not going to let this opportunity slip away from me. "I still don't know your reason for hating the Careers, but anyone who _doesn't_ like their bloodthirsty ways is a friend of mine. What do you say we ally together?"

Lilly stares at me, not exactly excited, but not exactly angry. Just… surprised I guess.

"You?" she says. "Ally with me?" I nod. "Well…" Lilly considers this for a moment. "I guess it couldn't hurt."

I smile and say, "Hey, maybe we could, I don't know, be the opposite of the Careers. They stand for everything bloody and cruel. We could stand for everything good and just."

She laughs at this, and I can't help but join her. Good and just? I sound like I'm talking about a superhero or something.

"Alright, I'm in," Lilly says. "But one thing."

"What?"

"If we ever come across the Careers… well, just leave the District 1 girl for me to finish."

Lilly gets this scary look in her eyes. I would think she was crazy… if I hadn't worn the same expression once. A few years ago, this one kid was picking on my little brother. It got to the point where Maris came home with a black eye. I was so angry that I stormed over to the kid's house and gave him a taste of his own medicine. I wanted revenge. He hurt one of my loved ones and I was going to make him pay.

That's exactly how Lilly looks now.

"Fine," I say. We shake hands, representing the official creation of our alliance.

"You know," Lilly points out. "We're going to need some other tributes. We can't hope to make it far with just us two."

Just after she says that, I feel the elevator spring back to life and continue rising past floors 2 and 3.

"Right," I agree. "Let's take care of that in training, ok?" Lilly nods.

The doors fly open and I'm looking at the decorated hallway that will lead me to my room. I step out of the elevator and breath a sigh of relief. I barely turn my head when I say, "See you later, Lilly."

"Hey Moss," she says just before I rush down the hallway.

I turn around with a quizzical look on my face. "What?"

"Nice outfit," she finishes with a smirk.

Shit. I had completely forgotten about my absurd looking octopus outfit.

_Oh well, _I think. _Not like I can hide it._

"You like it?" I say sarcastically. I lean up against the wall and strike a very seductive pose. "I picked it out myself."

Lilly laughs as the doors begin to close. "See you."

I smile and spin on my bare heels. My stylist didn't even grant me with shoes. I walk swiftly down the hallway to my room, dying to get out of this freaky outfit.

As I pass the main room of my apartment-like floor, I stare out the large window that gives me a great view of the Capitol. The sun has already disappeared below the skyline of buildings. How long was I in that elevator?

No one else seems to be here yet. Not my annoying escort, Eli. Not my district partner, Elia. And not her husband who is also my mentor, Alex. I guess none of them could get up here due to the broken elevator.

I hurry up and find my room. It's even nicer than the one on the train. There's a whole row of dressers next to a closet, all filled with designer Capitol clothing. A small door leads to my private bathroom. A king-sized bed is pushed against a window. I would say wall, but that entire part of my room is a glass window.

I search through the drawers of the dressers until I find an outfit that's more my style; a pair to tattered jeans and a black T-shirt. I grab some socks too, but don't even bother with shoes.

After ripping off my tentacle, I slip into the new clothes. It feels so good to have actual clothing on again. I don't feel like a hooker anymore!

I turn around to see that in the corner of my room is another mirror. I inspect my reflection. Even though I'm back in normal clothing, I still look totally different. I'm not the same Moss my family knows. I'm ashamed to present myself on TV like this, like someone I'm not.

The black chain necklace that was given to me by my father is still around my neck. I'd completely forgotten about it. Sure, I was wearing it during the opening ceremony, but hadn't really thought about it.

Call it homesickness, but as I gaze at my reflection, I see 3 other people behind me.

My father stands with a reassuring hand on my shoulder. He hasn't done that to comfort me in years. The father I see in the mirror is the one I want him to become for Maris. Let's face it, the odds of me returning home are slim. When I'm gone, I need him to stop grieving and take care of Maris.

Next to my father, taller than him even, is Brock. I'd completely forgotten about him too. My best friend. He protected me when I was too busy protecting Maris. I wish he were here now, protecting me through these dreadful Games. I don't think I can do it alone.

But I'm not alone anymore. At least I have Lilly.

And most importantly, I see Maris looking at me. His eyes are broken. He looks as if he wants to break into tears, but he doesn't. He reaches his hand up and touches the glass.

On the elevator, all I wanted to do was punch everything. I wanted to scream in the faces of every damn Capitol citizen I ran into. But I think my talk with Lilly loosened me up. Now, all I want to do is go home.

I place my hand over Maris'. The image I've been seeing in my mind disappears, leaving my alone in my room that is growing darker due to the setting sun.

"I'm coming home, Maris," I whisper to no one. "One way or another, I'm coming back to you."


	20. Training Day One

**A/N:** I'm sorry that we haven't updated in weeks. Hopefully this following A/N should explain why.

**Phoenix's A/N: **Sometimes you have to say something that you really don't want to. No amount of wishing or begging or any mortal device can change it. You can try pretending it's not real, avoid the subject or a thousand other things-but it doesn't make it any less real.  
>With heavy hearts and eyes that feel like they've never been dry, we're letting all of you know that Nick died.<br>We may not have ever met him in person, but that doesn't matter. Sometimes, when you meet people your heart connects with them and you find the whole pure goodness of them. That's what it's like-was like with Nick. You can love someone and be best friends with them even if you've never shook their hand.  
>Now that he's gone, the world feels more empty and dreary. We've all been struggling in our own way with this. But we know that he's without pain, that he won't hurt anymore now. A good man is gone, but his legacy will live on forever. The best way to honor him is to never ever forget him or the kind of man he was, to raise our children to be that kind of guy who'd die for someone he didn't even know. Good men are hard to find, don't let him be the last of them.<p>

**A/N: **I don't feel that there's much more to say apart from that we're writing collectively a commemerative poem for him which we'll publish on this account, and we're going to write a memo for him on this profile as soon as we can. It took us all this time to muster up the energy to write this to you. Anyway, this chapter has been written by GypsyStars, who we originally chose to fill in for Nick while he was in hospital. Unfortunately that position has become permanent. Anyway, Gypsysyars with Lilly Cross, the D11 female. Training Day One.

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><p><strong>Training Day One (Lilly Cross by GypsyStarsxzskunkmuffinxz)**

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><p><em>"If someone commits suicide, they are selfish. If someone is afraid of dying, then they have regrets in their life; they want to change things that they did. If someone isn't afraid of dying, then they believe their life is complete. Maybe that's me."<em>

_~Nick (xzskunkmuffinxz)_

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><p>I wake up. At least I assume I do. The bed is far too soft, and there isn't the normal musty smell of our house, or the tickling of the frayed edge of the blanket under my chin. Also, I am warm. This should make me happy, but it only serves to confirm what I had been trying to convince myself wasn't real: Up-side, I am not at home. Down-side, I am in the Capitol. I have been reaped. I open my eyes.<p>

The ceiling is very white and clean above me. Some detached part of my brain wonders how the frick they get it that clean. Do they have people who are paid specifically to clean ceilings? God, no wonder the rest of us are squatting in the dirt if this is where the money is going...

I lie there staring at the ceiling for what feels like a ridiculously long time. The thing about spending your life on your feet is that when you no longer have to run, you find you've forgotten how to walk.

So I simply lie there, with my arms and legs spread out under the sheets, as if pointing to all the points of the compass, gazing at the ceiling as if it could tell me everything that I wanted to know.

I thought about the past 48 hours. God, had it only been that long. I let out my breath in a small 'huff' motion of surprise, and the thick sheets felt nice against my skin as I did, so I huffed again. I let my mind drift. I thought about Moss, the boy from D4. The one in the octopus suit last night. Huh. 'Octoboy'. That should be his new nickname. I made a mental note to tease him about it when I next saw him. The thought of last night though set my teeth on edge. The _nerve _of that D6 boy... I pause, searching for his name. Relk Stein I think. I really ought to get together a list of the competition... But seriously, he couldn't keep his hands to himself, and not even in the flirtatious way – rather, in the 'I'm-gonna-eat-your-dress' sort of way! Seriously! Too bad he isn't a career – then I'd be hunting him down in the arena. The thought of careers however is enough to make me sit up. Too fast –my head spin. I put my hand up to steady myself, and encounter a mess of bed-hair. Ugh. I need to look better than the D1 girl. Everything is about beating her, in every way possible. I stumble to the bathroom, and stop dead at the sight of the shower. How. The. Frick. Does. That. Work? I strip off the night-wear I had tugged on last night (pink with frills – GARGH!) and step into the shower. Right... now... how to work this shower...

Several scalding, confusing and sweet-smelling minutes later, I re-enter the bedroom, red from boiling water but with freshly washed hair, which I proceed to plait up on top of my head, out of my face but still looking good.

Let's get this show on the road. Metaphorically.

Breakfast was excruciatingly awkward. Our escort was cheerful and bubbling, our mentor solemn and detached, staring distractedly at her plate without once addressing a comment to either of us. My district partner, Vaughn, keeps trying to make conversation, first with me, about home, or tactics, or last night, but eventually gives up after a full 15 minutes of monosyllabic responses and snide comments. I'm not about for form weak alliances, and believe me, Vaughn, as nice as he is, is a weak alliance. It's a shame really. I could almost imagine being friends with him, if I wasn't about to kill him. Eventually he gets the hint and moves on to probing our mentor for tactical advice. I zone out. I have my strategy worked out. Heaven knows I've put enough thought into it. I didn't train for nothing.

So now I'm in the lift. As we stop on the next floor, D10, the girl gets in. Aleah, I think. I'm getting good at the names. Know thine enemy. Or something along those lines. Still, she's not a career, so I look her over curiously. Conclusion: Long dark hair, almost black, but contrasting, very pale skin and shockingly blue eyes. She is also terribly thin, even thinner than me, which is a skill. She looks like she could be very good looking if she tried, but she clearly doesn't. She looks up, and catches me looking at her.

"What do you want?" she growls, more than asks, the sneer on her face making it clear what she thinks of me. And they say I'm distrustful.

"To win" I reply with a rue smile, answering her technical question, but not what she meant, and then I look away, as if she is not work the time. I'm impressed by her, but not overly so. I wonder how much of it is bluff?

At that moment the lift stops and the doors open onto the training room, and we both leave, swiftly putting as much distance between us as possible. I spot Moss working at the spears section, repeatedly launching a deadly-looking pole at a dummy, under the instructions of the spear-tutor. I quickly find a station that requires less attention – knot tying is nearest – as sit down, a bit of rope in my hands, to watch everyone else. Moss is now trying to hit the dummy from afar. Although he was good up-close, from far away, his aim is terrible. He moves up closer, now using the spear as an offensive weapon like a sword, and is once again good. I make a mental not to warn him not to let on his strengths and weaknesses so easily, if we're going to be allies.

Allies. Huh. I look around at the rest of the room, scanning it for other potential allies. The district 5 girl, Aella Dekas I think, catches my attention. She is at the fist-fighting station, and pummelling a dummy, but she moves on very quickly, possibly because she doesn't want to reveal her strengths so soon. Huh. I smile to myself. I like her. Like the D10 girl from the lift, she looks like she hasn't spent much time on her appearance, but she is potentially good looking. She is dressed kind of tomboy-ish, or as tomboy-ish as our capitol outfits will allow. She moves on to daggers, which seems to be a good move, as she has some skill with them – enough to establish her as no pushover, but not enough for someone to make a note of it. Tactical.

So she's a potential. I continue looking around, but as I do, the knot-tying guy comes up to me, either to see how I'm doing or to try and help me, as I am sitting kinda inactive, just looking around, so I hand his rope back to him, ignoring the slightly hurt look on his face, and move on. If I'm going to have Moss as an ally, I don't think I'll need knot tying – I'll leave that to the District 4ers.

I go to the sword section. I'm good with a spear, but not so great with a sword, so for a while my attention is on my big metal pointy thing in my hands rather than the people around me. So when a scuffle breaks out two dozen or so feet away from me (the room's big), I don't see how it starts. I look up to see the district 7 boy, Arasomething, in a face-off with the D10-girl-from-the-lift. I grin. Someone else who she's p***ed off. Then he takes a swing at her, and he's quick, but she's quicker, and she dodges to the side, causing him to stumble forward. She looked seriously annoyed, causing her previously pretty face to crumple up into a snarl. She whirls around, crouched, enhancing the impression of an animal, but instead of pouncing like her pose would suggest, she swings her leg out, sending him hurling to the ground. Part of me wants to see how it would end if this escalated into a full-blown fight, but the peacekeepers are looking up, so she just walks away, leaving Arasomething to pick himself up off the floor. He looked practically ready to take her down there and then, but he knows that he has to contain himself. She's not making any friends, this D10 girl, but for now I think I may have found my third ally. That punch looked pretty hard, even if it didn't connect. I smile, and get up to go tell Moss.

It's just before lunch. The others have already gone into the vast cafeteria, but Moss and I are using the empty room for sparring, testing each other's limits, which we couldn't do while the other tributes were around, in case we revealed too much about how we fight, but we really need to get our teamwork together, so this is perfect. We've moved round several weapons, going through spears (I won), tridents (he thrashed me. Badly.) and now we're on to daggers. We're circling each other, panting, but grinning. I have a dagger in each hand, and he has only one, his other lying a good 15 feet away where it span out of his hand only seconds ago. He lunges, but I trip sideways out of the way, catching him in the stomach with my right hand dagger as he falls forward. The dagger bends (it's rubber, but weighted for realism) so as not to hurt him too much, but still, it has enough force to knock the wind out of him, and he goes down to his knees. I skip behind him and press the blade of the second dagger to his neck, and say laughingly "I win. You're dead."

He concedes defeat with a wheezy "uh-huh" of consent, and I give him a minute before pulling him to his feet.

"C'mon" I say, smugly pleased with my 2-1 victory, but still exhausted. "I need to go eat something." We turn around to head for the door, the knife-tutor scurrying to pick up our discarded weapons, and as we do I see someone dart through the door as if they'd been watching us. Just a flick of long goldish hair, but I break into a sprint, growling "damn it" under my breath. I didn't want anyone to see how we fought, which is why I waited until they were in lunch before we trained on our own. Who saw us? I burst through the door, causing at least half a dozen heads to snap up and stare, but only one tribute is standing – Aella Dekas, D5. Huh. I grin internally. Maybe it's not such a bad thing after all then, that she saw us. She looks both sheepish and defiant, and slightly flushed, which confirms that it was her. She looks me right in the eye, daring me to comment, so I just smile pleasantly at her as if nothing's on my mind at all, and go to help myself to food. Everyone else turns back to their food, apart from one or two people, including her district partner, who she sits down opposite, and that frigging D10 girl. Seriously, what is her _problem?_I ignore her, and load my plate with the simplest food I can find. These capitol people have ridiculously extravagant tastes. Moss appears beside me.

"Who was it?" he asked in an undertone, not bothering to explain what he means.

"Aella Dekas, don't-" I was going to say 'don't look right now', but he's already glanced over his shoulder, making it very clear that we were talking about her. I roll my eyes. He turns back to be, a small smile playing on his lips. "Maybe we can work that to our advantage...?" he suggests, and I laugh softly. "You read my mind."

We take our trays and sit down at the one spare table. I dig in, as I have my back to the rest of them so can't see them even if I want to, but Moss, opposite me, can see them all he likes, so he's slower eating as he's watching our would-be killers. It's an odd experience, dining with people who'll be baying for your blood in less than 4 days. I can see his eyes roam about the room, settling on certain people.

"Who d'you think...?" I enquire, and he answers before I even finish my sentence.

"Apart from Dekas?" he says, and I half smile.

"You're sure about wanting her?"

He nods. "She saw us, so she's either a liability or an asset and I know which one I'd rather." Boy, this guy speaks like a career. No, actually, he speaks like me. Like someone who has reluctantly trained and thought about this a lot. Not like a career. I am _not_a career. I am the antithesis of a career. But some little voice inside my head mutters "but don't extremes come full circle and meet?" I push the voice away. I must allow no weakness. I am _not_a career. I am the careers' worst nightmare.


	21. Evening Scene In The Capitol Part One

**A/N: **I just wanted to say thanks for your support with Nick before I rattle on, it really means a lot to us... After mikki "kindly" asking me to say thanks to all you readers and reviewers (us authors are the ones who need thanking if you ask me!) for all your support due to the long break, I reluctantly dragged myself over here to write another one of these abysmal A/Ns. In the words of Marvin the Paranoid Android: "Life, don't talk to me about life." (Hitchhikers' Guide to the Galaxy reference) I know how you feel Marvin, I know how you feel. Anyhow, this is the first of the three evening scenes in the Capitol "of your choice" as I put it... so I'm very curious to find out what people have put. Also, this chapter is the one that knocks our current writing count over the 100,000 mark, I mean wow! First off it's a lot to write and to read (so thanks to you and to us) and second off, we're only under half way through the Capitol Scenes! So, without further ado, I hand you over to the capable hands of... Pumpkin Grin (D5 Male).

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><p><strong>AN: **Hello, PumpkinGrin here, aka Pumpkin or Xian. Here is my Capitol chapter, which is the first evening scene of my choice. I do hope you enjoy, and I apologize for grammatical errors; as some of you have pointed out, I have switched between past and present tenses a bit. I hope I haven't done so in this chapter. Anyways, I hope you enjoy! Wait, I've said that already… Oh well!

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><p><strong>Evening Scene In The Capitol One - Claus Hendall (D5 Male) by Pumpkin Grin<strong>

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><p>"<em>Beliefs are what divide people. Doubt unites them. "<em>

**-Peter Ustinov**

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><p>I will not make it out of here alive.<p>

I had remained in a quiet, panicked state throughout the whole train ride, choosing to sit by myself and to keep quiet. Then, we arrived in the shining city that was the Capitol, to which I treated with contempt. It looked too artificial, which was understandable when I remembered what exactly the Capitol was; a heartless totalitarian city that sought total control over the districts they already ruled. One would have assumed that my state of silence attributed to my total unease over my position in this situation, but I had hoped someone would have noticed the brief flash of scorn that crossed my face when we had approached the city.

The twenty-four of us got settled within our quarters in the Training Center. It was roomy and comfortable, not to mention unbelievably sophisticated and technologically advanced. We barely had any time to familiarize ourselves with our temporary homes before we were carted off to our stylists. My stylist, Ambrosine, wasn't as freakishly decorated –or as freakishly deformed – as the other residents of the Capitol, but she still had an alien aura of beauty to her. Being around her made me feel more insecure than I already was when they began to strip me down and "clean me up", as they put it. I honestly didn't see what was wrong with my appearance, but I suppose I don't have an eye for appearances like they do.

Then came the Chariot rides. I was placed in a rather…strange tuxedo suit that was relatively normal except for the fact that my suit had dozens of brightly lit light-bulbs planted all over it like flower buds. My district partner, Aella, looked much better than I did in her outfit, so we received mixed reactions from the audiences at best. Ambrosine told me to go out there with confidence, but I had kept my head bowed all the while.

And then the training.

The training was probably the most fruitless ordeal I had ever gone through. There were different stations situated around the training environment, each with a different area of expertise. Most of the tributes flocked to the weapons, but I lagged behind and stayed near the knot tying. I had passed that station pretty easily, so I wandered to one station that focused on running. I just resorted to running a couple of laps, testing how long I could run until I ran out of breath. Suffice to say, my agility hadn't deteriorated, so I automatically knew that running was going to be my strong point. But running won't be enough in a fight to the death.

Here I am, in my room, after that training period. I'm not as sore or tired as some of the other tributes are, but there's still a lingering burning sensation in my gut and my calves. I briefly remember my first foray into cross-country and long distance running. It wasn't an activity that was pursued much back in District 5, but they had never closed down the empty registration boards for it. Seeking some distraction from my estrangement from my parents, I sought out the lonely activity. And for such a reserved person like myself, I found that running suited me just fine.

Eventually, an hour passes, and I start growing a bit tired of reminiscing and thinking and just being immobile overall. I need to take my mind off of things, I tell myself. I need to work off some of this pent-up stress within me. The laps I had completed back in training certainly did a number to my anxiety, but it keeps refilling. I'll have to constantly be distracted, and that's something I'm sure I can do easily. After all, I'm in the very city that I despise. I think I'll find a way to occupy myself by at least exploring this little prison of mine.

I change out of my training clothes and tug on a simple T-shirt and trousers with equally simple shoes. I'm thankful for the rather generic clothing; I was worried that I would have to go out in some hideous outfit that the Capitol citizens would have deemed relaxation garb.

I tiptoe outside, closing the door softly behind me. Looking around the hall, I try to determine a direction to go. I don't have a particular destination in mind, which is understandable due to not even knowing where everything was. I had chosen to follow the other tributes to the Training Center when it had come time to report there earlier today. Trusting my blind instinct, I step tentatively to my right and flinch as I can practically hear my footsteps ring out through the halls. Despite the carpeting, my feet shuffle against in rather noisily. This would definitely be a bad thing if I'm not supposed to leave my room, but I push the thought to the side. Slowly, patiently, I make my way down the hall.

I arrive at an elevator, the same one I had taken up to my quarters only a few hours ago. It takes only gentle push of a button to make the doors open silently, beckoning me in. I have no choice but to comply. Inside, next to the doors, is a number pad with probably hundreds of buttons, but I know it's a great exaggeration. I scour my memory for the floor that I had passed with a waiting room of some sort and end up blindly pressing 16.

Suddenly, the elevator dips down, leaving my stomach back up on whatever floor I was previously on. Gripping the railings with my sweaty palms, I gulp and hope that nobody decides to catch me right when I land on my designated floor. In the matter of a few seconds, the doors open and reveal nobody. A sigh of relief is expelled from my lips.

Cautiously, I step out of the elevator and peek around for any passerby. Strangely, this place is a lot emptier than I previously thought a building of Capitol origin would be. Then again, this is to my benefit, so I have no right to wonder or complain. With quick fast steps I traverse the hall to my left in a blind faith. Suspense takes me as its prisoner as I hurry.

I peek inside every door that I pass by. All of them are styling rooms of some sort, which meant they were of no use to me and my intents to find a place to relax that wasn't completely choked by technology. Isn't the Capitol interested in one of those fads; retro or whatever? Wouldn't a quiet room devoted to just reading or sitting be considered retro by today's standards?

It takes a while, but I eventually reach a rather unremarkable door that doesn't appear to be a styling room. Upon inspection, it appears to be just a simple rectangular room with beige walls and simple leather armchairs and sofas. To my vague delight, bookcases filled with half its namesake are present.

All too eagerly I rush inside and silently close the door behind me. I don't hear it click, but it doesn't matter. By God, I've finally found a place of solitude! It's amazing, really. At least someone here in the Capitol has been thinking of folk like me.

I have picked out a particular armchair and a particular book, a very old one called Tinker Tailor Soldier Spy by a man named John le Carré –I was probably right about this being a sort of retro fad- and have made myself comfortable. A quiet place to read a new book that I haven't practically memorized is a godsend in this strange prison. Welcome silence had finally come, and I embrace it whole-heartedly.

I've started the book and made it to the third chapter –such strange vocabulary this book boasts, I notice- when I hear the door croak. Looking up suddenly, I see a girl. A fellow tribute, to be more exact. Her sudden appearance has almost shocked me, but I hide it with the hardcover book. I see her eyeing me from the doorway, one hand on the doorframe and an eyebrow half-cocked. She's questioning my appearance, as I'm questioning hers. Has she followed me, or does she possess the same desire to be alone? Whatever it may be, I don't want to cross her path and my eyes dart back to my book.

I hear soft footfall as she enters the room. Her steps are slow, a bit methodical, as if she's still studying me. As if she's wary of my continuous presence here. I hope that me simply being here hasn't irritated her; I don't know if she's one of those people who gets annoyed when they see someone else occupying something that they themselves were expecting to be first to. Either that, or she just doesn't like me. I continue to make it seem like my full undivided attention is focused on the book in my hands.

There's a soft _sshh_ sound, like something smooth rubbing on something of equal texture. I realize it's her withdrawing a book from one of the shelves. The sound disappears and is replaced with her quiet footsteps over to an armchair off in the corner of my eye. My eyes strain from trying to peer at her at such an angle, and I realize that this might be intentional. My eyes again dart to my book.

The silence is uncomfortable now. My limbs are stiff and aching from remaining in such a fixed position, but I feel that if I move it will somehow irritate the other tribute. I glance at her as discreetly as I can, and I take mental note of her long brown hair pulled back into a practical ponytail and her ivory skin. She has the air of a confident competitor, someone who surveys her surroundings constantly. Maybe she's a Career. I wouldn't be surprised.

Her eyes, a hazel in color, dart towards mine from her novel, causing me to return to my book. Chastising myself for getting caught, I sneak another glance at her. It dawns on me that this is my enemy, and here we are in the same room. This definitely ups the awkwardness of the situation. Two contestants in a fight to the death in the same room, reading books that were written way before our grandparents were conceived. What a cruel world we live in.

Nonetheless, I try to expel all dark thoughts from my mind, but I find myself hopelessly failing. A potential murderer of mine is sitting a few feet away from me, and I know for sure I'm probably one of the weakest tributes here. Things aren't looking too bright.

Just then, the door opens yet again, this time revealing a somewhat familiar face. It's the female tribute from my District, Aella. Her blonde hair is also pulled up into a ponytail high upon her head, but its color, not to mention her green eyes and freckles, differentiates herself from the other girl. She has a slightly more welcoming aura about her, though this is probably due to us belonging to the same District. But seeing her here as a possible enemy lowers my spirits even more.

It doesn't stop me from giving a tight grimace of a smile and muttering, "Hello," to her. She offers her own smile and a small wave before leaving the doorway and making a beeline towards the nearest of the three sofas. Taking a seat, she swings her petite yet gangly frame onto the furniture. I can tell that she's definitely a lot more open than the other girl.

Aella doesn't make a move to grab a book like the other two-thirds of the room. She just remains there with her legs sprawled out and her feet upon the opposite armrest and her arms folded so that her hands meet atop her stomach. She seems much more at ease than I, but there's no doubt that there remains at least a little trepidation within her. Or she is just that good at hiding her fears and doubts. I envy her if this is the case.

My eyes start scanning the words in front of me, failing to register them properly. I read them, but I don't take the time to stop and form a basis of what's going on. My mind is racing with other things at the juncture that cannot simply afford to let up some space to comprehend some ancient book. I only catch vague thoughts; a character in the book has the surname of Smiley. Who would ever have a last name like that? Only bare-threaded thoughts are formed from the book, and it doesn't bother me much, contradicting the rather avid reader and writer I naturally am.

"So, you're Claus?" Aella asks. My shoulders spasm and my fingers twitch into holding the book in some sort of death grip. My head jolts to her direction and I give a short nod. The words spoken have cut through the air like a knife through melted butter.

"Oh." She frowns at my lack of what she seems to consider a proper response. "I'm Aella."

"I know." I reply quietly, not realizing how creepy that sounded until a few moments later. I blink and shake my head as I straighten up in my seat. "I mean, no, I…heard your name. At the Reaping, when they called it," I hastily add for clarity's sake.

Aella raises her brow at me, blonde eyebrows perched high above her dark-lashed eyes. "Yeah…I know. That's how I know your name too." She states carefully, giving me a strange look.

I utter a shaky, "Oh," as my head ducks toward my book. I tilt my head a few degrees to see the other tribute looking at me through the corner of her eyes. I avert my gaze and inwardly sigh at my awkwardness.

Aella seemingly senses my inability to make decent conversation and ends up trying to converse with the other girl. "How 'bout you, what's your name?" She asks invitingly.

The girl looks up, slightly annoyed but with a tinge of interest. "Onyx Marshall. District 2," she responds in detached air. Onyx's gaze scans over Aella, making observations of her like a predator would. Her body remained still while her eyes did all the investigating.

At the mention of District 2, Aella tilts her head back and slowly brings it back down, mouthing a drawn out "Oh." "A Career, huh?" She inquires. A twinge of spite is detectable in her voice. Obviously her opinion of Careers is low. Unlike me, she doesn't bother to hide it as much.

Onyx smirks. "Of course. Why not?"

"Careers are overrated. Predictable. Disgusting." My District partner spits out the words as if they are poison from a snake bite. "Violent, bloodthirsty creatures."

"But isn't that the sort of mindset that you've gotta adapt in the Hunger Games?" counters Onyx, closing her book and leaning forward. "We can't afford pansies or weaklings here. You've gotta build a skin, an immunity, some muscle. Both metaphorically and literally, of course." She eyes my thin frame and I look away instinctively.

"The Games aren't just about strength and physical power," Aella argues. "You need mental prowess as well. I mean, sure, strength would help out a whole ton–no offense to you—"

"None taken," I murmur, my ears burning.

"—but you need the reflexes and the wits to survive as well. The only reason Careers win all the time is because they rely on pure power and bloodlust to hunt down others. That's why the twigs that might be survivalist Einsteins die out because they value brains over total mindless brawn." Aella looks at me apologetically. "Again, sorry for putting you out there."

"No, it's fine…" I dismiss, my eyes darting to my lap as I can feel Onyx's scrutinizing gaze upon me. But I do suppose Aella is somewhat right, and that one must need a healthy balance of wit and physical strength to win this. Does running count as a display of physical prowess?

Apparently, Onyx is thinking along the same lines as I am. "That's why we form alliances. We group the strong guys, the muscle, with the whizz-kids, the brainiacs, like this guy." She juts a thumb towards me, making me raise my head in weak protest.

"I-I can run. I dunno about smarts or anything, but I can run," I try to correct, but Onyx's utter ignorance of me shuts me up. I'm definitely not a people person. When would the day come that I could stand up to someone? She doesn't even look older than fifteen and she's more of a man than I am. Both of them are.

"But don't you admit, it would be a bit more…I dunno, convenient, if someone had a balance of physical health and mental health?" Aella points out, swinging her feet from the armrest and placing them on the carpeted ground. "Having to rely on others for specific attributes that some don't possess. Why not take the time to actually have all the necessary skills and mindsets or whatever you call them? Seems much neater to me."

Onyx scoffs, her neck recoiling slightly in protest. "You _do_ realize that we aren't here for months on end? We only have a week at the most to prepare for this, a week at most to focus on your specialties. Just recruit those who make up for whatever you don't have, and you're all covered." She retorts.

"Then what happens in the end? You try to kill them off, your allies?"

"Yeah, of course. Only one's gotta win, after all."

"But what if they have a 'specialty,'" Aella forms quotation marks with her fingers. "that ends up getting you killed because you can't counterbalance it?"

"Well, that won't happen to me." It seems that just for a minute, Onyx has lost her composure. Perhaps the thought of the possibility of dying has just reached her. She quickly recovers, but it doesn't leave my memory.

"How do you know?"

"Because, I'm a Caree—"

"Look, guys, please, just…be quiet." I interject quietly, my hands forming into fists around the book. Setting down the novel in my lap and closing it abruptly, my hands fly away from it and clasp together. I untangle one hand and drag it down my face wearily, hoping that the two tributes will catch onto my body language. They both quiet down and bring their attention to me, staring at me after my outburst (if it can even be called that.).

"It doesn't matter, about alliances and Careers and whatever. Right now, can we…please, just focus on getting some time to relax?"

The two girls give me strange looks at my rant, but I almost fail to notice due to me staring down at the hardcover book in my lap. My eyes traced the frayed blue edges and the worn corners, the faded lettering on the spine disappearing into dust. Sighing, I open the book to where my page approximately was and stare at the words.

The room falls quiet, and it seems that their anxiety-driven argument has come to an end. All noise is gone, and silence has come back once more.

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><p><strong>Grin's AN: **Yeah, that was kinda crappy, I am sorry about that. I'm half-asleep at the time of this writing, so…I hope I've done Aella and Onyx justice, please forgive me if I haven't! And I apologize if this doesn't seem too Claus-centered. I do know that the later chapters within the actual Games will be Claus-centric for sure! Anyways, tell me what you think; I'm a review addict, I must admit.


	22. Training Day Two

**A/N: **Training day two. To save time there are only going to be three training days, and even that's quite a few. You don't know how long it took me to divide everything up into 24 parts before the games... it was quite a long time, okay? Oh yes, and remember when you read this - fat walrus. Had be rolling around on the floor laughing. I can't even explain why... it just did. Welll then, I honestly can't think of much more to say apart from if you're confused about the chapter orders visit chapter thirteen where the layout is given by A/N and this is the second training day by... mrslukecastellan (D2 Female). Enjoy. I doubt you will! :P (Nyah to you, Maia's greatest rival!)

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><p><strong>Training Day Two - Onyx Marshal by mrslukecatellan<strong>

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><p><em>"<em>_To die will be an awfully big adventure."_

—_J.M. BARRIE, Peter Pan_

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><p>Day one of my training in the Capitol had gone well. No, that's a complete lie. I stuck to Hyre like glue and laid low on Polly and Malcolm's suggestion. Well, more like Polly's suggestion, and Malcolm's force. I wanted to get in there and spar the crap out of every person in there, and Hyre wanted to lay low. You can guess who won. Hyre is Malcolm's favorite. I don't get it, but he is. I'm not going to argue with Malcolm. You can't argue with as sexy a man as him.<p>

I went down to breakfast positively dreading every second of it. No doubt I would be lectured yet again by Polly about my lack of color in my outfit, and Malcolm would somehow make a subtle hint that I would be dead soon without Hyre and Polly picking up on it. That's why I was thoroughly surprised when I went down, and both of them weren't there.

Hyre was sitting at the table by himself, picking halfheartedly at a bagel. I didn't blame him. Every time we came down I didn't want to eat something. It looked good, but the second you got up from the table it felt wrong. When you think of everyone in the districts living so much less glamorously, it makes you stop eating. Even in District 2 there are problems, and I feel guilty.

I slide into a chair across from Hyre, ready to start my day.

"Hey," he says with a cute little smile.

_Keep your head in the game. Don't let anything stop you from Victory._

Mason's words come to me at moments like this, where I seem to get distracted by all the happiness. I don't have time to be happy. The only thing I can do right now is focus. Focus on training. Focus on making allies. Focus on psyching out the enemy. Focus on winning.

I can't help but frown as my fingers toy with the chain of my simple silver locket. The emerald sparkles as it catches the light coming from this brightly lit dining room. It shimmers and brings hope, which contrasts with the black tablecloth. Black. The color of death. A constant reminder that 23 of us are going to leave the Arena dead, never to seek out our glory again. Only one of us will be safe from the destruction, and it'll take a lot of work to get there. No matter how you think of yourself, you can't help but feel a little bit depressed when you look around.

"Is something wrong?" Hyre asks, his brow scrunching up. I can see the concern in his expression.

_Kill him. As painfully as you can muster. As slowly as you want._

Jaime hasn't left my mind either. His little offer makes me disgusted, but it worries me that he seemed to almost know what I was thinking about doing. Killing Hyre. I had told myself at the Reaping I would. But as soon as Jaime starting demanding that I do exactly that, I lost the urge to do it. Hyre is a good guy…it's a shame he'll have to die. Maybe I won't need to be that person that makes his perfect dark brown eyes close forever.

"I'm fine. It's nothing."

He sighs.

"Seriously. What's wrong?"

"Nothing, Hyre!" I snap.

I poke my fork angrily into some scrambled eggs and pop them into my mouth, chewing. When I finally swallow, it's like I've eaten a stone. I'm not angry at Hyre. I'm madder at myself for not being comfortable telling him exactly what is going on.

"I know there's something, Onyx. How can we tell each other things in the Arena where there are cameras if you can't tell me anything where there is nobody else listening?"

"I guess you're right. I was just worried you'd…not want to ally anymore."

"We're from the same district. It's a given. We have to ally. I want to ally too, by the way," he says, smiling at me.

He's just so nice. How could I do anything to harm that face?

I quickly pick up my facade of tough and vicious behavior.

"Fine. Jaime came to me at the Justice Building," I state calmly.

"Really?"

"Yes. He wanted me to kill you. Painfully and slowly. I'm not going to listen to him, by the way. I'm so sorry," I reply, still keeping myself calm.

"Did he offer you anything?"

"Yes."

"What was it?"

"Sex."

"No, I'm the one who's sorry," he laughs.

I smile at him, and he notices. Just as quickly as I am out of my disguise I'm back in again, acting just as calm and emotionless as usual. I've never lost control of that before. Never have I smiled in front of my fellow tributes. Polly and Malcolm have only gotten the crazy and creepy behavior out of me. And that is all I am at liberty to show.

He laughs and rolls his eyes.

"Have you seen Polly and Malcolm?" I ask.

"No. And I don't want to. We're alone, and we can get a break from the constant nagging. I don't know about you, but Polly scares the living hell out of me."

I laugh. I immediately cover my mouth to stifle the noise. I can't show happiness.

He laughs too.

I look around. All the other tributes aren't here yet…or they already came.

I stop pretending for a minute and start bursting into laughter

"You're right. We shouldn't ruin this with adult supervision," I say, offering up a suggestive smile.

I'm sure I look like a wannabe flirt, and possibly a serial killer. I've never "flirted" in my life, and I am not going to start doing that now, no matter who it is. Polly suggested that I be flirty for my interview personality. I told her she could shove that up her ass, because I am not capable of flirting. She didn't expect that response at all. Ha! If I ever used flirty as my personality, I would also be dressed as a slut. I can't be dressed normally, and act like that.

"As the best tributes in the entire Games, we should not be the last people to get to training." Hyre says.

"I agree. Hyre, why are you keeping us here?" I laugh.

I get up, having barely taken a bit of my breakfast, and we go running down the hall. Thank god I am wearing my training clothes. Polly might have a heart attack if I am not.

As we run, my necklace bobs. Up, down. Up, down. Each time it comes down it hits me in the chest. I'm actually going to train today, so wearing my locket is a bad idea.

I stop and put my hands back, trying to unclasp the necklace. I can't get it off.

"Damn it," I say softly.

Hyre comes up behind me and moves my hands out of the way.

"Let me," he says with a smile.

I lift up my ponytail, allowing him access to the chain.

His fingers are warm against my skin. I pass it off like it's no big deal, but…I like the feel of his fingertips on my skin.

He drops the locket in my palm.

"There you go."

I continue to walk down the hall. I look down in hopes that I can escape the glances that Hyre keeps giving me.

I'm wearing a pair of black shorts, a white tank top, and a black thermal jacket over the tank top.

"These shorts are really short," I exclaim.

Hyre takes a little look, then looked back up at my face, an eyebrow raised.

"Did Sven make them?"

"Yeah."

"And that is the reason why they are so short."

Sven is my stylist. He disapproves of all the clothing I own, so he has insisted on making me new clothes. Along with making my chariot outfit, interview outfit, and whatever I am going to have to wear in the Arena, he also makes me training clothes. No matter what I say, the clothes he makes are always shorter than they were when I gave them to him. I would say he likes me…but that would be stupid. He's seven years older than me. It would make no sense for him to like me.

We enter the training area, and I notice that all the mentors for the Career districts are all having a meeting together. All the tributes are already started on their training.

We go up to Polly and Malcolm, awaiting their instruction. I'm sure they have something to order us about. The second we get there, Malcolm takes me off in one direction. I look back and see Polly taking Hyre the other way.

"What should I be doing?"

"Protect Hyre. Keep him safe. I don't care what you do, just do not let any harm come to him. Make him feel safe," Malcolm replies.

"Don't I deserve to feel safe?" I ask.

"You'll be safe when you die in the Bloodbath. You won't have to worry for much longer, because you'll be dead soon enough. Hyre will win the Games. Your only job is to keep him alive as long as you are alive."

"What should I be doing for myself?" I rephrase.

"Polly and I discussed with the other Career district mentors. According to them, both from 1 want to be in the pack, you and Hyre are already in, the girl from 4 also. The boy from 1 is leading, and you're second in command. So you need to go around and make sure that all the tributes are ready to go. There might be more that want to join. You have the right to pass judgment on them."

"Shouldn't the leader be doing that?" I ask.

"He needs to train. People seem to think you'll be able to help, so you are in charge of the entire recruitment. Don't screw this up."

"I won't let you down."

"Yes, you will. You'll die in the bloodbath, because you are a weak, spineless, pathetic, bitchy girl that doesn't know how to do anything, no matter how much you train. And when you die, I will laugh my ass off. We would have been better off with Mary Sweeney."

I turn around before he can say more.

First I go and find Skye Azurite. When I find her, she's using some sort of wrap around…sword thingy. Not the most fun weapon in my opinion, but they can open some pretty deep gashes, and I admire her skill with them as she slowly traces them over the training dummies, putting some pretty nasty cuts into them. I know for a fact they would kill someone in the Arena. I decide to go and talk to her.

"Skye?" I ask

She swivels around, and her weapon is perched in her hand. Her icy blue eyes are flashing with curiosity, and her golden ringlets are slightly damp from working. She doesn't look at all like a Career.

"Want to join the Career pack?" I ask her.

"Well…I don't know…I haven't conserved all the options yet… and—"

"Okay, taking that as a yes. See you in the Arena," I say.

Then I turn around while she protests. Music to my ears.

Next is the boy. I spot him over at the plant station. Roy Rousseau. Sounds like the name of a prissy person. He's not even with the weapons! How good could he be?

"Roy?" I ask boldly.

The Capitol attendant stops their lecturing on plants used for medicine, and he turns around to me, scowling.

"I heard you were the leader of the Careers. True?" I ask.

"Duh. It was only a given. A person of my incredible skill naturally gets all the leadership positions," he replies teasingly,

"Who'd you think would lead the Careers? A scrawny little girl like you? That would be suicide. Who are you?" He continues.

He has hair the color of fire, and it continues to fall into his amber eyes. Every few seconds he flips it out, and I catch a good glimpse. His arms are laced with scars, almost like…char marks. Like he's been burned. They don't look like they were an accident.

"Onyx Marshal. District 2. I'm your second in command."

"How did you end up in power?"

"I'm vicious, aggressive, and ready to kill," I say without hesitation.

I cross my arms over my chest and jut my hip sideways. I probably look pissed. And I am.

"Listen, I know you're loving the view, but you should move along. Give the other ladies a chance at the spark," he points to himself with a jeering smile.

"Oh yes. Because ladies love to look at fat walruses," I say, adding seduction to the beginning with mock flirting. I add as much venom as I can possibly muster into it.

I turn and walk away, smirking. That was one of my better comebacks.

I go over to Hyre, who is lifting weights up, pumping them hard with his muscle.

"Hey…Onyx…what's…up?" He asks between breath intakes.

"Oh nothing. Just tracking down our allies like Malcolm asked me to. I think he's wasting my training time on purpose. We only have three more hours," I say in a bored tone.

"He wouldn't do that, and go find the other tributes you need to find and meet me at the spear throwing station in an hour, okay?"

"Okay," I agree.

"Excuse me?" I hear behind me.

I look at Hyre and mouth, "Who?"

"Some girl," he answers back.

I turn around and see a small girl. She has short brown hair that is cut like a boy's, and her eyes are light brown. I don't know what she wants, but I can see hope in her eyes.

"May I help you?" I ask her, plastering a sneer on my face.

"I'd like to join the Career pack. Roy told me you were the one to talk to."

"Did he now? What district are you from?"

"3," she exclaims.

I snort. "No."

"Please! Give me a chance. I have a plan for a trap that could help you. Let me explain."

"Really? And what is this oh so incredible trap you speak of?" I ask, moving a bit closer to the girl.

I'm taller, so I am more intimidating to her then she is to me. Obviously. I don't get intimidated very easily.

"Imagine a piece of rope with a wire connected to it. The wire is camouflaged and there's a switch also. When someone steps onto the rope, they'll back up, thinking it's a trap, and then as they are stepping back they hit the wire, sending an immense amount of pressure, and then electricity goes through the wire and paralyses them. Or kills them."

"Sorry short stack. I understood none of that," I state.

"A piece of rope that makes people die," She explains, as though it's the most obvious thing ever.

"I like it. You're in," I say.

"Really?" She exclaims.

"Sure. What's your name?" I continue.

"Jules Serket," she answers.

"Cool. I am letting you in, but don't tell anyone about it. We literally need Careers only now."

"Okay. I won't tell anyone."

"You better not. Or you will find a pretty little dagger in your throat before you can scream," I say, adding a sneer, just for emphasis.

She blinks a few times and then walks away, blank stare and emotionless expression intact. She's good, although I am so much better at hiding my emotions.

"Well…congrats. You scared a little girl," Hyre says, continuing to pump the weights.

"She's 18, Hyre. She's your age."

"Well, now I feel stupid."

"Good," I say, walking away and going toward the station next to the weights, which happens to be the agility station.

I walk over and place my fingers on the balance beam next to the uneven bars, where the girl is working again.

I jump up and place my feet in a line. I roll back on my heels a few times and experimentally do a handstand. My form is alright, so I push off into a cartwheel, then I turn backward and handspring down the remaining part of the beam and dismount with a back tuck. I stick the landing and raise my arms up.

Out of the corner of my eye I capture a glimpse of a figure that even a brief glance of sends shivers scurrying down my spine. She's got that upright posture, steady balance, a lean and fit state. And of course her black hair pulled back into a tell-tale gymnast bun. I feel threatened. She's a gymnast too. Only somehow something inside of me tells me that she's even more experienced than I am. And that just can't do.

She's squatting down at the fire making station, her paper white pale hands striking a flint repetitively, trying to squeeze a flame out of the equipment.

Cockily I stride up to her, and then bend down next to her just as a tiny light sparks onto a daub of cotton wool. A slight smile springs onto her face as she still doesn't notice I'm here, and then I expertly pinch the flame out with my two fingers after licking them, using my saliva to douse the fire.

She jerks around to be confronted with my sneering face, and then jumps backward in fright. I notice as she topples she digs her elbows into the ground, and then propels herself backwards so she does a backwards roll until she's facing me, a glint of terror in her eye as she's bent down on the floor.

"So you're a gymnast," I say, flashing a fake smile at her, then rolling forwards onto my arms so I'm standing up just by my arm strength alone, then swing my legs and arms around simultaneously so I end up standing upright, smirking down at her.

She hurriedly pulls herself up from her crouching position at the floor until she's balanced on her two feet.

"You're a gymnast?" she asks, finally speaking.

I nod and smirk a little bit. This is what I was hoping to happen.

"Why? Does that worry you?" I smirk, revealing my true malice, and not answering her question.

After a moment's pause she slowly shakes her head, still keeping it dipped low as if afraid of me. Well, if she truly was afraid of me she would have nodded her head, not shaken it. So she thinks she's better than me, huh? She somehow thinks that a scrawny runt like her – I quickly glance at her back and smirk even stronger when I see the number "8" pinned on her back – could ever stand a chance of beating me, especially in something I'm so talented at like gymnastics.

"Well we'll see whose better at the Cornucopia," I say, and then stride off before she can even react.

I walk over to the shelter building station. There's a boy standing there working with weaving grass into a durable surface. We learned how to do that at age 5, still proving I have more skill then most of the people here.

This boy has long, shaggy brown hair, and as I walk over and catch a side view, I can see that it is covering his eyes mostly. He shakes it out of his way and I can barely see his green eyes. Being the suspicious person I am, I look him up and down from head to toe. He's tall...like...really tall. I bet he's a good runner. And he's wearing a stained white shirt, jeans, and worn out sneakers. He can't be a Career, that's for sure. He's just not...trying hard enough, and to be a Career, you have to look the part, and act it. A Career would have probably screamed at me for being a stalker by now.

"Hey." I say.

The boy looks at me with a smile, and then it fades away. I tilt my head, confused by this.

"Think I was someone else?"

"No. I was just hoping you weren't you," He says, as though that is going to make me understand anything, or clear anything up.

"What is that supposed to mean?" I ask, putting my hands on my hips.

"You're a Career, aren't you?"

"Maybe I am, and maybe I'm not." I snap.

"Where are you from?" I ask.

"District 4." he answers.

"So you're a Career too? Oh thank god. I need some more people." I exclaim.

"I'm not joining your stupid pack! Just because I'm from District 4 does not mean that I am a bloodthirsty, ruthless, monster."

"Monster? All Careers? I don't think so."

"You are, and I can tell. It's practically radiating off of you."

"That would be the smell of success." I say.

"Or the smell of blood. You'll be reeking of it by the time you're done slaughtering half the people here."

"I will not!"

"You'll kill at least 5 people. If you're lucky, everyone except you." He says with mock excitement. Then he glares at me and turns around, and I can tell the conversation is over.

I turn around and head toward the fire station, just because I don't know where else to go. Immediately I see some more tributes, both boys. Thank god. Boys, I don't have to worry too much about.

One of them has dark brown hair, and the other, black hair. They are both sort of the same height as me, although the boy with the black hair is a little bit shorter the other one, but they are older than me. I can tell.

I approach, and the capitol man that is standing there looks up in surprise. He's about done with his lecture I think, because he turns around and leaves the two boys to make their fires. And that stupid gymnast girl is nowhere to be seen. I suppose she ran off in a hurry after meeting me. Serves her right, the insolent brat.

"Hey." I say, trying to make conversation.

The boy with the black hair turns toward me with a blank expression.

"What, do you not know how to talk?" I ask.

Silence. Nothing.

"You look pissed." I say.

"If you were in jail for a year and then reaped for the Hunger Games right after, you'd be pissed too."

"What did you do to get in jail? Did they put you in for being so frickin' ugly?"

"I missed a Reaping with my dad and I wasn't dying."

"What a shame you weren't." I murmur.

"What's your name?" I ask.

"Ari." He replies.

"Where are you from?" I ask.

"District 9." He answers

"Wow. OK, well…bye." I exclaim.

He remains silent, and I groan. I decide to go talk to the other boy. Maybe he'll provide some actual intelligent conversation.

"So…who are you?" I ask.

"Oak." The boy answers.

"What district are you from?" I ask.

"District 8. You're from 2, aren't you?" He answers politely.

"Yeah, I am from District 2. And you're from District 8. The same one as that gymnast …ok. Sorry. I have to stop talking to you boys now. Neither one of you are Career material, so…yeah."

"You mean Maia? She's not that bad." Oak says, continuing with his polite tone.

"Whatever."

I let the word roll off my tongue slowly.

I swivel around and walk away, not sure where to go next. I see a girl leaning against the wall and know she's who I want to talk to next.

I walk over to the girl as she sits there writing in a little notebook, oblivious to everything, and as it seems, everyone. She doesn't even look up as I approach her. Looking at her, I can see that she is tall, and has speckled freckles sprinkled around her nose. She isn't fat, but she isn't thin either. She's pretty average.

"What's your name?" I ask, sitting down next to her.

"Nella Birchalynn." She answers, not looking up from the notebook.

"Where are you from?" I ask.

She doesn't answer.

"What are you doing? Shouldn't you be training?" I ask, sitting down beside her.

"I am training. Training my brain. Writing is really good for your brain. It keeps you sane." She replies.

"That's a stupid journal." I say.

"Obviously you would think that, considering your mentality revolves around brawn, rather than brain."

My eyes widen.

"Excuse me? I am a Career, and I'd be especially nice to me, or you may find yourself dead before the Bloodbath. You'll regret saying that comment I'm sure. It'll be a pleasure to kill you." I say.

And then I get up and go back to the archery station, because I do not want to be here with little miss writer. Ha! Writing as training. Next thing you know she'll be off writing stories about everyone...I can't wait to get in the Arena.

I am so bored. I never thought I would say that while I was in the Capitol, or while I was surrounded by weapons to practice with. But there it is. I'm just not feeling anything. The other tributes are either way stupid, or they don't react to anything. It makes me really upset. I mean, I am throwing out some really wonderful insults and things, and nobody gives me a damn. At least, they aren't showing it at all.

Looking around, there are many people who I haven't met yet, and I don't know if I want to meet some of these people. There's a boy standing around with a completely clueless expression….I know I saw him somewhere…District 10. I don't know his name…but I'll just call him Farm Boy for now, because I seriously don't feel like making an effort to know who he I, and if I am thinking correctly, District 10 is livestock, which includes farms. Ha. I should ask him to join the Careers. He'd be good for a laugh I'm sure. And Roy would approve too I'm sure. I actually don't care what Roy thinks. There's one weak link in every team, and this kid will be it. One more person I can control.

I look over at the hand to hand combat station. I would love to go there, but I have a feeling I went over the line just by doing those cartwheels on the beam. But that doesn't mean I can't size up the others that are in combat.

I spot one girl working with knives with an attendant who looks very bored. This girl has long blond hair, pulled back in a ponytail. She's relatively pretty, and she catching me looking over at her, but she has a look on her face that says she isn't happy about me watching her. I don't see why. If you're pretty, show it. I know she's thin, but she's wearing clothing that are somewhat baggy, and aren't really showing off anything, like mine clearly are.

The girl rolls into a crouch and poises her and the knife in a menacing position. Ughhhhhh. If I could get over there I would do that. I would make friends with that girl I'm sure. I make a mental note to myself to ask that girl tomorrow to join the Careers. I have a feeling she isn't in a district for Careers, so I should hold off until I get all the people I am supposed to get.

I look at her again, and she stands up, smiling. The Capitol attendant that was working with her comes and walks over in my direction.

"Who's that girl?" I ask.

"I think she said her name was Aella Dekas. She's from District 5."

"Do you know how old she is?" I ask.

"I'd be willing to guess 16."

"Awesome. Move along." I snap.

I roll my eyes. I'm not about to be friendly to anyone. That would not be the Career thing to do.

My attention for training is gone. I look back at Hyre again. He's still working with those weights, and his shirt is drenched with sweat. I almost wish he would take it off. Almost. I know my to do list. He's not on it.

"Enjoying the view?" someone asks.

I turn around and see a girl standing next to me. She's got creamy skin, long curly red hair, and she's wearing no shoes. Those are the things I notice first. And then her eyes…they are sea green. Intense. I have never seen eyes that green.

"What do you mean?"

"You obviously like that guy," she says.

"No, he's just my district partner. I'm not watching him like that. My mentor is making me…babysit him pretty much. Make sure he doesn't get himself killed."

"Mmhmm. No offense or anything, I'm just telling the truth, but he likes you. Don't let that one slip away."

"I don't like him, and he doesn't like me. Who are you, cupid?"

I look at the girl; she smiles, even as I am insulting her. Her hand goes to her forehead and she wipes away some sweat. She grabs a bow and goes to shoot, but then she throws it on the ground, and I see the ring on her finger.

"You're that girl. From District 4, that's married to her mentor," I say, shocked.

"Yeah, that's me."

"Well, I hate to burst your bubble, love bird, but I'm not interesting in having a boyfriend. I'm far too focused on other things to be making doe-eyes at some boy. I barely know him."

"That's fine. I'm just going to…you know…leave. Go kiss my husband…because it's _fun_ to kiss boys."

"Before you go, want to join the Career pack?"

"Yes. I am going to get you and him together if it's the last thing I do. And it might be."

"Yeah right!" I scream.

"Go flirt with him," she insists.

"Never! I'd rather poke myself in the eye with a rusty fork. I've never flirted in my life, and I am not about to start now," I quip.

"What are you doing?" Hyre asks, coming over to me.

"Staring at your chiseled features. What do you think we're doing, Hyre?"

"I don't know. But don't you have stuff to be doing?" He asks.

"No. I think I'm done. I'm going to go train though."

"That's probably a good idea. I'm going to go too," the girl says.

"What's your name?" Hyre asks.

"Elia Zervakos."

"As in _Alex_ Zervakos?"

"He's my husband," Elia replies.

"Oh my god! That guy was AMAZING. I watched the entire time three years ago and hoped he would win every second. And when that girl tried to kill him…oh damn, that was awesome."

"Oh my god, Hyre! You didn't vote for Maggie? She was from our district! She went to school with us!" I shriek.

"She was a loser anyway."

"Well, I am just going to go now. Let you two work things out." Elia says.

"Cute and smart," she whispers as she walks by. I glare a little bit after her.

"Did you really hope Maggie would come back?" Hyre asks.

"No…I wanted Alex to win too," I admit.

"Good. Now why don't you be a good little Career girl and go train? The battle reaction station is pretty fun."

I flick him in the forehead and walk away. Although I listen to his suggestion and go over to the battle reaction station. There's nobody there except a boy with straw colored hair. He's kind of tall, and I can immediately tell he is older than me.

The way things work here is thing get in your way, and you…well, you react.

This boy is good. Usually someone would get struck down, but he isn't, and he's dodging everything that the station can do. Over, under, left, right, jump, dive, and slide. He's doing amazingly. I know that I need him to join the Careers as soon as I see him.

"You! Dude."

The boy turns around, showing his cobalt eyes. Ooh. Fun. His features are pretty normal.

"What's your name?" I ask.

"Claus," he says.

"Where are you from?" I ask.

"District 5."

"Want to join the Careers?" I blurt out.

"No thanks."

"But...it's going to be really fun. You're really good at dodging, and deflecting too. I think you would be a really good member of the pack."

I suddenly hear Roy chuckling from behind. "Trying to use your ladylike charm on the competition? That's hardly fair to those who don't have any," he sneers, gesturing lazily toward himself.

I hold a finger up to Claus, telling him one second, and then I turn around, grimacing, and then hold up another finger to Roy. Only this finger has quite a different meaning.

"Just because you aren't cool and have no sex appeal doesn't mean I shouldn't use mine," I answer.

He looks stunned for half a second, and then he regains his composure.

"You have a point. All prostitutes need to have sex appeal, after all. You might even get a raise after you're done with this kid."

I know my face turned pale. I'm not only offended. I'm stuck. I don't have a witty comeback for that one, and if I don't say anything, he'll start talking again, and God forbid if he starts talking again….

I step forward and punch him in the nose before he has time to react. Blood gushes from his nose, and I go in again. I succeed in getting another good hit, and he lunges at me, fist raised hesitantly and shakily, as if he didn't want to hurt me.

Claus screams for a Peacekeeper, and two come up and pull us apart. One holds Roy's arms back behind him, forcing him to stay in place, and the other picks me up around the waist.

I would glare at Claus, but at the moment, I'm a bit occupied with not getting killed by Roy and not looking stupid as well. Right now I just look downright psychotic. Sheer perfection. I need to look like I want to rip someone's throat out. And this time, I really do want to kill Roy. And as it seems, he wants to kill me too.

"I AM SO GONNA MAKE YOUR LIFE HELL IN THE ARENA!" I scream.

"I'd like to see you try! I am going to shove a sword so far up your ass you'll puke it up!" He screams back.

That was an epic comeback, and yet again, I have no response.

The peacekeeper gives me a warning I don't pay attention to, and I am down again.

"...I'll join." Claus says simply.

And then I leave the training area, escorted none too gently by Malcolm. I apparently got kicked out.

"What the hell is wrong with you?" He yells.

"He started it when he called me a prostitute!" I yell back at him.

"He had the right! You just called attention to yourself, and you got yourself kicked out. Good luck impressing the Gamemakers now! You didn't train yesterday; you can't train today, and tomorrow is your last day. You better hope that you can shape up before then."

He goes to walk away, but I still feel pissed off, and I need to say something, just to have the last word. I am not going to let Malcolm have the satisfaction of making me crack.

"I didn't train yesterday because you demanded that I didn't. You had me on a wild goose chase finding people today, who for the record, all had an interest before I talked to them, and tomorrow, I guarantee you'll find some way to sabotage me. Just like you always do! You have so little faith in me. You should see what I can do. If you would let me train, full out, you would understand that I am going to stay alive for a while! And I have a chance of winning. If Hyre dies, you have me! And just me. So either help me or move along and risk me doing stupid stuff when I have no direction." I add.

He stares at me and rolls his eyes.

"Go to your room. And don't even think of showing your face at dinner. We all hate you. Polly, me…and_ Hyre_."

The way he says his name, the way he knows that is the comment that will most likely make me snap…it is sinister. Sexy? A monster can't be sexy. I was stupid to like Malcolm anyway. Good thing I got over him now, before he's too mad at himself to look at me. Now I don't have the reason to look at him.

I walk back up to my room, thinking over my strategy. Vicious and aggressive. I'll show Malcolm. I'll show them all.


	23. Evening Scene In The Capitol Part Two

****A/N: ****This is the penultimate (ooh I love that word) evening scene in the Capitol. I could also say the second, second from last or middle, but penultimate sounds better. So deal with it. ;p Now, we've got another chapter. I won't forget this author PMing me going "Snev, what am I meant to do exactly with this chapter?" and me going into a long depth detailed answer about Katniss and Peeta on the roof and Effie with her mannerisms and such. Well, it really was perfect. It was like I has dreamt it up. Life is but a daydream, isn't it? That's right, this evening scene is by... Life Is But A Daydream (D3 Male). Enjoy it! ;)

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><p><strong>Evening Scene In The Capitol Two - Mack Tulley<strong>

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><p><em>Questions of science<em>

_Science and progress_

_Do not speak as loud as my heart_

_~Coldplay, The Scientist_

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><p><em>Dear Alef, <em>I begin, then scribble it out. Am I sure I want to write to Alef, after what he said about not believing in me? Maybe I should write to Pixel, or my parents, or someone else. Or maybe I shouldn't write a letter at all. They might not get it (after all, Gage doesn't seem too trustworthy and Cabel… well, I don't know what he's thinking). I run a hand through my hair and sigh. Who would've thought writing a letter could be this hard?

I've never been too good with words. They were intricate, complicated, too complex for even me. I think of Jules, and decide she would be good with words. She probably knows their secrets, understands their equations. Maybe I should write a letter to her, for just-in-case. My stomach flip-flops at the thought of me coming home in a casket. I guess I'm not used to such dark thoughts. They bother me greatly. But ever since I arrived in in the Capitol, they keep breaking into my mind, trying to put out the fire of hope I keep in my head. The fire that's been growing weaker ever since I was reaped for-

I pick up the pencil and begin writing, to push back those dark thoughts. I have to be practical about this; negativity never got anyone anywhere. And hope is all we have, right? So I have to hope I can write this letter.

_Dear Jules, _I write, then stop. It wouldn't be very hopeful of me to write a letter to give to someone when I die. But, as silly as it is, maybe I can hope for both-

My thoughts slide to a halt when they notice someone is knocking at the door. I abandon the letter and open the door to see the plastic smile of Lucea Wellington.

"My dear, it is almost time for dinner!" she says, flipping back her hair. "If you were late, everything would have to be delayed, and we couldn't have that!"

"Oh, sorry," I apologize as I follow her out of my room and into the ornate, beautiful dining room. Everyone is there but Jules, and I assume her room is where Lucea disappears to once I am seated next to an empty chair.

An avox is circling the table, filling up the water glasses with a silver pitcher. I do my best to ignore him, for I learned the hard way the first night that talking to avoxes is frowned upon. They also don't make good conversationalists, since their tongues are gone. But as he fills my water glass, I do flash him a quick smile.

Across the table my stylist Dulcie is chattering on about her new beehive hairdo to Cabel, who, after awhile of her meaningless talk, says, "Let the unfortunates rail; the others may play marbles."

She gives him a sideways look and rolls her eyes before continuing to listen to herself.

I'm so busy watching their exchange that I don't notice Jules had joined us until she says, "Can you pass me some of those bread rolls?"

I look over at her, and she looks back at me. There are bags under her eyes, and I know she is stressed from trying to join up with the - as she likes to call them - Monsters. I give her a smile and ask, "Are you even hungry?" remembering the night on the train. She's eaten a bit more since then, but I think it's mainly because she doesn't want Lucea on her tail.

"Today I am, actually," she says, and grabs a roll out of the basket I handed her. They look so good, I decide to take one too.

The dinner passes rather quickly. Most of the talking comes from our stylists, who both love talking about one thing - themselves. It's a good break from listening to all the talk about the Games. They also chatter on about another favorite subject of theirs - and mine - the Capitol.

They say the nightlife in the Capitol is amazing. People in fancy eveningwear strutting around the city, all the colorful neon lights, and don't even get them started on the food. After awhile of hearing them talk, I can't help it; I say, "Is there any way we can check out a view of the Capitol at night?"

Dulcie brightens up, and immediately starts listing ways. "You can see a pretty awesome view from Gage's window, oh and the rooftop is breathtaking at night! You could always go up to the District 8 floor, they have a pretty amazing view. And if you want to get a close up look, you can go down to the ground floor and look out the windows there."

"So many choices, so little time," Jules says with an ironic sigh.

I grin at her remark. "I think the ground floor would be fun. Do you want to come, Jules?"

"Don't think I've got anything planned." She gets to her feet and flashes a look at Lucea as she says in a too-sweet voice, "May I please be excused?"

Lucea, oblivious to Jules's sarcasm, smiles and replies, "You may, just don't get lost. I had a tribute who once got lost and it took all night to find him."

"We wouldn't want that to happen," Jules says, then leaves the room. After a moment's hesitation, I get up and follow her. Our escort doesn't reprimand me for leaving without asking. I figure she must be out to get Jules.

"I think elevators are one of my favorite things about the Capitol," I tell Jules when we are in the elevator, going down to the ground floor. I look over at her. "What about you?"

Leaning against the wall, she replies sarcastically, "It's hard to choose. There's just so much to like."

I laugh, and she cracks a smile. Maybe I'm going crazy, but I think Jules radiates hope. I'm not sure why such a nice girl like her would want to join up with the Monsters, but just thinking about it - and the Games - makes my heart race.

A bell rings and the elevator doors silently slide open. Jules and I make our way into the dark, abandoned lobby, and walk towards the glass wall with glass doors that are locked tight. Outside are some Peacekeepers standing guard, but all they do is glance at us as we lean against the glass, peering out at the city.

It looks just as amazing as our stylists said. Not too many people are out walking around, but there are still lights glowing from the towering buildings, which are taller than the trees in our textbooks back home. Within view is a neon sign advertising a restaurant, another neon sign advertising a night club. It's an electric wonderland. I'm just beginning to calculate how much electricity this one block must use in a day when Jules interrupts me.

"I'm glad I don't live here," she is saying, "because if I did I'd probably trip and fall out a window from the top floor."

She says this in such a humorous way, I have to laugh. We return to silence, but it settles upon us like a blanket on a hot night, and after awhile, I can't stand it. I say, "Do you think if you believe something, it's true?" Silence again, but this time it's a pondering kind of silence. Finally, she speaks. "It depends on what you believe."

"Like, I will win the Games, because I believe I can," I say automatically, then shudder when I realize I have mentioned the unmentionable.

"Well, that will provide motivation. But you have to do something about it, too. You can't just say 'I will win the Games', then go and stand there like an idiot during the bloodbath, because if you do that, someone will kill you," she answers.

"Ah," I say, thinking she has a point. I shift from foot to foot and unwillingly let the silence settle in again.

Jules is the one who breaks it this time. "Why do you ask?" she asks me. "Do you intend on winning the Games solely on hope?"

I grin. "Something like that. Hope is all we have, right?"

"Whatever floats your boat," she says, shrugging before she pauses to look out the window. "Did you ever decide if you're going to join the Monsters or not?"

And with those words, our conversation turns to the Games. Well, it was inevitable, given the situation.

I nod unwillingly, say, "I'm not going to join the Careers."

She smirks. "I figured as much, since you've been avoiding them."

"Yeah." I look out at the city lights, twinkling in the dark. "But maybe, after you've finished with them, we can join up. I think we'd make a pretty good team. We could outsmart the others."

What I say is true. Maybe it's stupid to ally with your District partner, since it may come down to the final two, and I know I could never be heroic enough to kill myself for her. Some loyal friend I am.

She smiles. "We probably could. Brains over brawn, after all. When I'm done with the Monsters, I'll come find you."

"Sounds like a plan," I say. The silence settles in again, but this time it isn't as crushing. Jules and I are on the same page. We both have hope, and we can do this. We stare out at the Capitol, not saying a word, until we finally start to yawn.

"I think I'm going to head for bed," I say, rubbing my eyes like I used to do when I was a little kid.

"Same here," she agrees. "After all, we need our beauty sleep."

I crack a smile. We head to the elevator and go up, up, up to the third floor. The ride is smooth, silent. When the elevator bell dings and the doors slide open, we shuffle out the door and head towards our respected rooms. Mumbling goodnights and see you tomorrows, we open our doors, but before we enter, Jules speaks.

"Bread rolls at dinnertime," she says.

I stop and look over at her. "What are you talking about?" I ask.

"My favorite thing about the Capitol," she says, "from our conversation earlier."

"Oh," I say, finally getting it. "Why? That's when Lucea's meanest."

"Because," she says, "it's fun to annoy her."

Laughing, I shake my head and enter the room. "Goodnight," I call to her as I close the door. She replies the same and I wait for her door to shut before I shut mine. Still sitting on my bed is a piece of paper and a pencil and by now I know what to write.

_Dear Jules, _

_Maybe it's stupid for me to trust you, and to trust that you will receive this letter if I die. But I have to believe it will reach you, because hope is all we have, right?_

_I'm glad I got to know you, Jules, and I can't help but wish it was under different circumstances. I don't understand completely how we became friends so fast in such a dire situation, but I won't question it, because all I know is that I wouldn't want it any other way._

_And remember it's scientifically proven a person can last eight days without food, three days without water, three minutes without oxygen, but not a minute without hope. So, no matter what, keep on hoping._

_Your friend,_

_Mack_

_P.S. If there is a District 13, find it for me._

I bite my lip as I finish up the letter and slip it into my pocket. My heart feels heavy from writing the letter. It's all so real now. There's no use denying the fact that I am going into the Games and will most likely die.

I shake my head to clear my mind. No. I have to get a hold of myself because if I give up now, I'll die for sure. If I lose hope, I'll die for sure. First things first, right? I feel the letter in my pocket and realize I can't just waltz into the arena with a random piece of paper. It isn't allowed. Only tokens passed by the Gamemakers are allowed. Which means I'll need to go to one of my mentors and ask them to ask the Gamemakers if I can bring the letter as my token. With that in mind, I slip out of my room and into the darkened main room of Floor 3.

The only light comes in through the windows looking out on city, along with a sliver of light shining through a crack in Gage's door. He must still be up. I make my way over to his door and quietly knock. A moment later, the tired mentor opens the door.

"What do you want?" he asks me. "You should be asleep."

"Sorry," I apologize, fishing for the letter in my pocket. Grasping the piece of paper, I pull it out and start to unfold it. "I was just wondering if I could have this as my token," I say, handing it to him.

Gage's eyes skim the paper and he smirks. "Very sentimental," he remarks. "Too bad relationships with District partners don't end real well. One of them usually ends up chopping the other's head off." He clears his throat and looks up at me. "Anyways, kid, I don't think this'll pass. It's too late."

I find myself begging. "Can you please try?" I say, realizing with a jolt how important this is to me.

He snorts and stuffs it into his pocket, wrinkling the once nicely-folded piece of paper. "Sure, whatever. If it isn't too late, they'll probably pass it. It'll add a nice touch when you die. The audience will eat it up."

I stare at him, dismayed he would say that. He sounds just as bad as Lucea, talking about the Games as if they were just, well, a game. Of course he notices this. Rolling his eyes, he starts to close the door and leaves me with some last words of wisdom. "Stop avoiding the truth, kid, because you'll only hurt yourself in the end."

"What are you talking about?" I hear myself asking, even though I know all too well.

He doesn't reply, and instead shuts the door. And as I stand there in the dark in the middle of a building in the middle of the Capitol, his words echo in my mind.

_Stop avoiding the truth, kid, because you'll only hurt yourself in end._

And that's when I realize he's right. It's not stupid to have hope - because it's necessary for survival - but to have false hope is something entirely different. At the very least it leaves you disappointed. I can't believe I've been wrong all along. I can't win these Games. I'm not strong or fast or talented. There's no way I could win them.

That's when the voice inside my head kicks in. Among the chaos going on in my head, among the shouts of dismay and angry protests, it whispers something. _Bread rolls at dinnertime._

Just like that, the turmoil quiets down, leaving only a hopeful silence - and this time it's not false hope. Instead, it's the hope that comes with a great epiphany. Maybe _I_ can't win the Games, but I know _we _can.


	24. Training Day Three

**A/N: ***bites fingernails nervously* Training day three! Whoo! This is scary, isn't it? The final training day, where everything falls into place and the tributes squeeze in that last minute practise that they need. It'll work just fine, all I need to do is relax, breathe in and enjoy the show. Or chapter. Or whatever. Oh no - I'm getting panicked. That reminds me of a scene from chicken run "we mustn't panic, WE MUSTN'T PANIC!" *all run around screaming like headless chickens*, 'scuse the pun there. Chicken run is a good film - if you haven't seen it you should. Despite the fact that it's for little kiddies. But... hey! Don't look at me like that. I'm perfectly normal... perfectly normal... Anyway, enjoy the final training day by... Lexi Blaze (D5 Female).

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><p><em>"It is in our own human nature to destroy ourselves" - Unknown<em>

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><p>"Good <em>morning<em>, sleepyhead; my dear, beautiful Aella!"

I scream and bolt upright in my bed. There's a creeper in my room.

A figure stands over by the window, throwing open the drapes and letting in bright sunlight. The colourful Capitol buildings outside my window make the light bend, reflect, and change color; it causes a bright kaleidoscope of confusion that blinds me.

I scrabble around in my bed, grabbing my soft white sheets and clutching them to my chest protectively. No, I'm not protecting the sheets; I'm protecting my chest. Who the hell is waking me up and waltzing into my room like they own the place?

As my eyes adjust to the sudden bright light and I rub the sleep out of them, I find myself staring up at the dark figure that had opened my drapes. "Why, Aella, dear, it's time to get up! You've got a big, big, big, big, big, big, big day ahead of you!"

I groan and fall back on my pillows heavily. It's just my escort, Lyrick - an annoying blue-skinned and blue-haired man with so much energy I fear he's going to explode.

"How did you get into my room?" I ask distastefully, propping myself up on my elbows and glaring at him.

He avoids my question and instead prances about the room, putting the things I have dislodged back in place. "It's your third day of training!" he singsongs. "Get up, get up, get up! You need to get dressed and eat before you can enter the training area!" With that, Lyrick bounds out of the room with a light, graceful step. I swear, if he wasn't an escort, he'd be a ballerina.

Stretching, I climb out of bed and kick the door shut. The shower in the bathroom is impossible to use, so I simply strip out of my sleepwear and change into a baggy grey t-shirt and pants, training clothes hand-picked by myself to avoid showing off any curves.

I scowl as I get changed, remembering the last - and only - time I wore something revealing. It was the chariot ride, actually. My stylist had somehow managed to force me into a dress.

I know, right? An actual _dress_. Gasp. Aella Dekas, District Five's resident tomboy, wearing a _dress_.

For the record, I was completely opposed to the idea. The dress, which had a sweetheart neckline that showed _way_ too much cleavage and a skirt that went down to the floor, was white. I had gotten so many wolf-whistles because of the dress during the chariot ride that I'm sure my face had been tomato-red in discomfort. There were glowing yellow lights dotting the skirt to represent electricity, my District's industry. A lot of people get us Fiver's mixed up with the people from District 3, but trust me, electricity and technology are two completely different things. Whenever there are power outages in Panem . . . blame us.

I finish getting ready for the day and take a glance in a mirror. I look just as I did the day of the Reaping: big green eyes, light freckles, slightly upturned nose, and long golden blonde hair. And yet, so much has changed.

I've pretty much accepted the fact that I'm going into the Games. A lot of kids are still in disbelief, but I think they need to get over themselves. I mean, honestly, there's nothing they can do about it now. So why not just accept that you're going to die? It's pretty much what I've done.

I sit down at breakfast with Lyrick, Claus (my District partner), and our mentor, lost in thought.

I can't help but wonder what my family is doing right now back at home. Did they watch the Chariot Rides? Were their faces glued to the television screen? What did they think of the ridiculous dress I was wearing? Did they even _recognize _me?

Surely Cleo, my sister, was proud. Finally, before my death, someone actually managed to tame my wild mess of hair and swipe mascara on my eyelashes. Blegh. I don't even want to _know_ what my stylist is going to put me in for my interview.

While I'm clueless as to what my family is thinking, there's no doubt in my mind whatsoever about what my two best friends, Flynn and Pascal, will be doing when the Games start. They'll both be at Pascal's father's home in the Victor's Village, claiming to be watching the Games together for "moral support."

I highly doubted that will actually happen, though. Pascal will see me through until the very end; he'll never take his eyes off the television screen. Flynn, though? I'm willing to bet everything I have that he will spend the entire Games locked in the bathroom, sitting on the edge of the bathtub with his head in his hands, yelling at Pascal every now and then for an update on how I'm doing.

I smile a bit at the thought of Flynn, my flirty brown-haired best friend. I miss him more than the others. Thinking of him leaves an ache in my chest.

I'm not of those stupid, pathetic, and weak girls who go into the Games and then realize they're in love with their best friend, though. No, I don't have any romantic feelings for him whatsoever. But it hurts to think about him because I know that if I hadn't gotten Reaped, there would've been "something there." I know that, eventually, Flynn and I would have fallen for each other.

Luckily for me, though, we haven't - not yet. And thus, I'm spared heart-wrenching loss and heartbreak because of him.

I snap out of my reverie as Claus, my District partner, taps me on the shoulder. He's a quiet sort of guy – he mostly keeps to himself. I'm alright with that, though, considering I don't talk to people I'm not comfortable around. I only dislike being around Claus because yesterday, he was chosen to be a part of the Career pack.

We head down to the training area together in silence. Once in the room, I make a beeline for the unusual weaponry station. They've mostly just got things there like maces, tridents, grip blades . . . and double axes.

When fooling around in Pascal's basement, I had found slight enjoyment in trying out the double-bladed axe. I wasn't training with it - not by any means - but I had swung it around a few times. Once, I almost hit Pascal in the chest, but the crisis had been averted when Flynn had knocked him out of the way.

You could say I was "good" with the double axe (it was just like any normal axe, but with two blades on either side of the handle rather than one), but there wasn't really any skill involved. Swords were difficult: they had to be balanced properly, and the user had to have the handwork and the footwork down well. Daggers, too, were hard to use, as the person using them had to be good with their hands, and quick enough to get in close to the person they were attacking. Bows and arrows? Nearly impossible to use well. Not only did you need good aim, but you needed to know how to shoot in the first place.

The double axe, though . . . it was easier to use than a normal axe. All you had to do was swing at your target. There was no rhyme or reason to it whatsoever, and because there were blades on either side of the handle, it didn't matter whether or not you hit the target when you swung . . . because you could hit it just as hard on the way back around. Anyway, the point I mean to make is that there is no skill involved with wielding a double axe. Still . . . you don't want to get in the way of one of them.

There's only one other person at the unusual weaponry station with me. It's a fourteen-year-old girl with chocolate brown hair, who I remember had been watching me yesterday while I trained. All I hope for this time is that she'll leave me alone. I'm pretty sure she's a Career anyways, so I have no intentions whatsoever to talk to her. But ask I pick up the double axe, I notice her watching me out of the corner of her eye.

I fool around with the axe for the better part of an hour (and by fooling around, I mean slicing up the practice dummies like pizza). Slowly, my aim gets better, along with my speed with the heavy weapon. If I'm lucky, they'll have these things in the arena, because I sure as hell won't have a chance without one.

Once I'm nice and sweaty and disgusting, I put the double-bladed axe away and sit down in a heap on the floor, panting. My blonde hair has come loose from its ponytail, and is sticking to my forehead with all the grime and sweat that's there. Sighing, I pull the elastic out of my wavy hair and begin to put it back into a ponytail when the Career girl – the one who was stalking me – comes over to talk to me.

"Hello," she says pleasantly, plopping down beside me. "I'm Onyx Marshall, from District Two." Ah. So she _is_ a Career.

"The name's Aella Dekas; District 5," I say in a slightly annoyed tone, hoping she'll get the message and leave me alone.

The girl - Onyx - just keeps smiling though, as she inches over closer to me. "I was watching you training today, and yesterday," she says, as if she's trying to make friendly conversation.

"I know," I huff, turning slightly away from her.

"You're pretty good," she says, just as brightly. I don't respond, so Onyx just plunders on. "I'm the second-in-command of the Career alliance this year," she puffs out her chest proudly. "I was hoping you'd join."

I turn to her and stare. It's not a mean stare, or a happy stare; just a stare. As if I'm trying to figure her out . . . which I am.

After what feels like an eternity, I slowly get up from my crouched position, done with fixing my hair. "Umm . . . thanks, but no thanks," I say awkwardly. Cleo's words about joining the Careers float back to my ears, but I tune them out. Wouldn't she be proud of her baby sister now? Too bad I'm not going to accept Onyx's offer.

"Why not?" the younger girl whines, jumping up. "It'll be fun. Besides, you'll have a better chance at winning, or at least getting further through the Games. We could really use your skill with that axe-thing," she crosses her arms over her chest. "You'll probably die without Career protection," her words suddenly turn harsh.

I step back, but I'm not offended. I've heard worse insults from my guy friends. "Look, I'm not interested, okay? Now please just leave me alone," I snap. I don't mean to sound harsh, but as I've stated before, my girl skills aren't the greatest.

"Don't think you'll get another offer as good as this one," she says loudly. Over her shoulder, a boy with brown hair looks up from the station he's at; all his attention is suddenly turned towards Onyx and her obnoxious words.

"I don't want to join the Careers, okay? Just deal with it," I raise my voice as well. I vaguely wonder where she, a fourteen-year-old girl, has gotten the guts to stand up to a sixteen-year-old . . . but then again, she _is_ from District 2. "Now go take your prissy little ass back to the kiddie's sandbox," I growl. Whoops, there I go again: offending girls with insults that would roll right off a guy's back.

Onyx looks shocked, but only for about half a nanosecond before she regains her composure. "I will cut off your head and _bury_ it in the kiddie's sandbox!" she yells. I cross my arms over my chest, mimicking her posture. Out of the corner of my eye, I see the brown-haired boy get up from his station and slowly start to walk towards us.

"Chill, _Marshall_," I spit. "We wouldn't want to see you shit your diaper before you get into the arena."

Her face goes red. "You wanna play dirty, _Dekas_? Fine! Bitch, I'll cut you so bad . . . I'll carve up your face! When they send you back home in a coffin, your pretty little face will be so disfigured you'll look like a mountain troll! _Ha_!"

"At least I have friends that don't care what I look like," I smirk, taking in her extremely short shorts and low top. "I don't have to dress like a _whore_ to get people's attention."

"ARGHHHHH!" Onyx screams, suddenly lunging at me with her hands outstretched for my throat. I shove my arms out roughly and push her down, flattening the girl on her back. The only reason I was able to pull off a move like that, though, was because my sister Cleo pulled the same thing on me the morning of the Reaping.

Onyx isn't like Cleo, though - she's a real fighter. She jumps up faster than I would have thought possible, fists poised and ready for a fight. With a swift knee to the stomach and a punch to the jaw, she sends me reeling backwards, gasping for air.

I hear shouts from some of the Capitol attendants and other tributes now - they've noticed our fight. Before they can pull us apart, though, I run forwards and charge Onyx, catching her around the midsection and sending us both sprawling on the floor. It was just a simple tackle Flynn used on me all the time when we played football, but effective and unexpected nonetheless.

Onyx punches me in the forehead as I knock her in the mouth with my elbow. Even though she's lying on the ground below me, though, she's got the upper hand - she's the Career. Expertly, Onyx flips up and rolls over until _she's_ leaning over _me_.

I let out a pained gasp of air as she punches my head into the ground one, two, three times. Blood is trickling down my nose and into my mouth, as well as from a cut above my eyebrow into my eye, impairing my vision. In a last desperate attempt, I send a strong right hook into the side of her head, knocking the girl back enough so that I can knee her in the stomach and scramble out from under her.

Loud cries reach my ears, and I realize that the officials have _finally _gotten their wits around them and found the courage to step in to stop us. Four of them drag Onyx off screaming, as I continue to scramble backwards on all fours like a demented spider, staring at her in fear.

"We'll finish this in the arena, bitch!" she cries. "This won't be the last you see of me . . . I swear on everything I own, I'll carve up your pretty little face, even if it's the last thing I do!"

Her maniacal shrieks are drowned out when a few officials lean over me, muttering to themselves and staring at me. I push them away with an annoyed look on my face.

A new shadow leans over me, blocking my view of everything. It's the boy with the brown hair who I had spotted watching us earlier; he's saying something to the attendants, but I can't hear him. All I know is that a few minutes later, he pulls me up from the ground gently and leads me to the girl's washroom.

Something makes me trust this guy. In essence, I should trust the Capitolites, not this tribute that'll be trying to kill me in less than a week; and yet, I can't shake the aura of security and gentleness that he exudes.

Five minutes later, I sit on the counter in the girl's washroom, staring at my reflection in horror. My lips are swollen, my nose red, raw and bleeding, there's blood caked all over my face, and the huge gash above my eyebrow is bleeding so heavily it's stuck my eye completely shut. My only company is the boy, who is running a towel under the sink, soaking it in ice-cold water.

"That was quite the nasty fight," he says, smiling at me kindly. "I doubt those wounds will heal before the Games. I'm Moss Dorian, by the way."

"Aella Dekas," I hold out a hand for him to shake. "Thanks for your help. Although, if you don't mind me asking . . . why _are_ you helping?"

He grins. "Why not? You obviously needed the help. No offense," he adds hastily.

"None taken," I sigh, turning towards the mirror and glancing at my reflection. I'm hardly recognizable now.

"Actually . . ." Moss trails off, lifting the paper towel to my face and beginning to harshly wipe off the caked-on blood, "I was hoping to talk to you."

"About what?" I grimace as he rubs my face raw.

"An alliance, actually. I couldn't help but notice you turned down that Career's offer to join her alliance rather harshly."

"Yeah, so? What's it to you?" I snap as he scrubs extra hard at a spot on my cheek.

"I have an alliance that is, well, for lack of better words . . ." he sighs, "_against _the Careers."

I frown, causing some of the dried blood to crack and my expression to turn into a grimace. "What do you mean?"

He shrugs. "I mean what I said. I've teamed up with this one girl - Lily Cross from District Eleven - and we've started an alliance that is the opposite of the Careers. She's out for revenge against them; I just really hate them. I can tell by your reaction to the girl from District Two that not only do you not like the Careers, but now, you probably want to get back at Onyx." Damn. This guy is good.

"Let me think about it, okay?" I say. Moments later, I add "fine. I'm in." There wasn't really much to ponder - I knew I needed an alliance, and I knew I wanted to be with people as far from the Careers as possible.

Moss gently takes my hand and the towel away from the cut above my eyebrow, staring at the wound intently. "Great," he says, smiling, but the worried creases on his forehead don't go away. "You've got some pretty good fighting skills too, from what I can tell," he says, and I blush, thanking him. "Now hold still. This might be a bit uncomfortable." He gets to work on one of the worst aspects of my injuries - the blood that's so thick it's completely caked my right eye shut. Nothing's wrong with the eye itself; it's just stuck.

"Can you introduce me to this District Eleven person?" I ask reluctantly. "Speaking of which, what District are you from? I'm from Five - the wondrous industry of electricity that gets mixed up with Three's technology all the time," I roll my eyes - well, eye.

He laughs. "District Four, actually." I give him an odd look, and he understands what I mean. "Yes, I've trained, but no, I'm not a Career. Not really. I dislike them just as much as any normal citizen from District Five or higher." This time, it's my turn to laugh.

Once I can open my eye again, and the blood flow has ceased, I jump up from the counter. "Thanks for your help . . . ally," I wink. "Who else is in this mysterious 'Anti-Career' alliance with us?"

He makes a face. "Ew. Don't call it that," Moss says, and we laugh. "So far, it's just me, you, and Lilly. If you see anyone else who you think might be good, let me know, okay?" he says as we exit the bathroom and return to the training area, where things have gone back to normal.

"Sure thing."

I spot Onyx over at another station, training with her District partner. She doesn't look up at me, but I know that she's angry. Moss and I head towards the fire station together, where a tall, big-boned, dark-skinned girl is working. Moss taps her on the shoulder, and she spins around defensively, glaring.

"Oh," she says when she sees that it's Moss. "Hey."

"Lilly, this is Aella," he says, gesturing to me. "I asked her to join our alliance, and she accepted."

Lilly Cross, the female District 11 tribute, gives me the once-over. She examines me from head to toe, as if making sure I'm good enough to be her ally . . . but I'm not good enough to kill her.

Her nose crinkles up a bit as she looks at my slightly annoyed expression, but the only comment she makes is, "You have blood on your face."

Dammit. I thought Moss and I had gotten it all off.

She turns away from me and goes back to making fires. I feel my blood boil up; how am I supposed to work with this girl when she ignores me like this?

Moss puts his hand on my shoulder reassuringly, but doesn't say anything.

I can already tell that Lilly and I won't get along well. It's not just that she's a girl . . . I just don't think everything will be smooth sailing for us.

Moss seems to like her, though. He helps her out kindly whenever she needs his assistance, although she's too proud to accept his help. Moss almost treats her like a little sister of sorts. I like this Moss guy: he reminds me of Pascal. Quiet, and yet, he has so much to say.

I stay with the two of them for a bit at the fire station, but I don't really work on anything. I mastered fire yesterday. All of a sudden, though, the red-headed boy who was already working at the station when I got there sidles up to me.

"Well hello there, gorgeous," he flirts, playing around with a lighter. "I couldn't help but notice you fighting with Onyx this morning."

I snort. "Is that all anyone is going to remember me for?"

"Well, I'm sure people would remember you if you went into prostitution, or something. You've certainly got the looks for it."

"I feel like I should be offended, but I'm not," I roll my eyes. "Who're you?"

"Roy Rousseau. _Le gagnant des Jeux cette année_," he says in a foreign language I can't understand.

"Are you're talking to me because . . . " I raise an eyebrow, grabbing the lighter from him.

He frowns. "Why does everything have to have a reason?" Roy snarls, his tone turning harsh. He reaches out, and I think he's about to hit me, but instead he grabs the lighter back. Roy brings the little flame dangerously close to my hair, and I jump back, staring at him with a confused expression on my face. He laughs at me, flipping the lighter shut and pocketing it.

"I'm just playing, doll," his words are joking, but I sense a steel-hard tone underneath. Roy's expression may be amused, but there's a dangerous glint in his eyes.

"What do you want with me?" I ask fearfully, praying that this won't end up in another fistfight like with Onyx.

"Nothing," he shrugs. "You're dirt beneath my shoes in these Games. I'm just playing with my food." My skin crawls at his words, and I have the urge to lash out at him, but I restrain myself.

All I say is, "I'll be looking forward to seeing you in the Games," but my tone is sarcastic. I then turn on Roy and stomp closer to Moss and Lilly, putting the redheaded freak out of my mind.

I move from station to station with my allies, mostly just observing them and the other tributes. There is a dark-haired boy over by the archery station who catches my eye.

I tap Moss's arm after watching the boy for a while. "Hey, check him out. He doesn't look like that bad of an ally," I say, and both Moss and I resort to staring at him. Lily joins in, too, just as the boy shoots an arrow just off-centre of the target.

After retrieving his arrow, the boy notices us staring. He puts down his bow and stares right back defiantly, as if trying to figure out what we're doing. Embarrassed, Moss turns away, but Lilly and I continue looking at him. She glares, while I smile and wave jokingly.

"I'm pretty sure that's the guy from District Seven," Moss mutters under his breath. "Araucaria, or something."

Araucaria picks up his bow and starts shooting again, but he steals glances at us from over his shoulder. "District Seven people are typically pretty good fighters," I say, "even if they've never trained. We could, I don't know . . . invite him to be the fourth member of our alliance?"

Lilly looks at me again, as if seeing me for the first time. "That actually sounds like a good idea," she grumbles reluctantly. I watch Araucaria closely while she talks with Moss. The guy has a pretty good aim with the bow, even though I can tell he's a beginner. I wonder if he'll end up being my only competition for a double-axe, if there is one in the arena - District 7 kids typically are good with those weapons, since they're from the lumber District.

We're called to lunch, and just as we take a seat together at the large wooden table in a chamber to the side of the training room, Moss nods to me. "We'll ask him to join the alliance right now."

I follow Lilly and Moss over to where Araucaria has settled himself, alone on a bench. He doesn't look up when we approach, but I see his shoulder muscles tighten in anticipation of our arrival.

"Hey," Lilly starts with a nod of her head, looking down at Araucaria's back distastefully and uncomfortably. There is a long, awkward moment of silence during which Lilly crosses her arms over her chest. After a while, she says, "Join my alliance with D-Four and D-Five, or die."

I literally slap myself on the forehead. That is _not_ the way to go around, asking people to be in your alliance.

Araucaria finally turns around. "If you kill me if I don't join you, how will I be sure you won't kill me if I _do_ join you?"

Lilly's speechless, but Moss and I step in at the same time to help out.

"You'd be our ally," Moss says plainly. "That means we'd rely on you to survive - we wouldn't _kill_ you."

"It's an alliance against the Careers," I add. "We'll be nothing like them. We won't kill the people we're working with just because we can. The point of an alliance is to keep others _safe_."

He considers for a moment, chewing on the inside of his cheek, before saying, "Fair enough. Sounds like an alright deal. Although, of course, we'll end up having to kill each other if we all make it to the final four." Ignoring the last comment, I sigh in relief; my idea of asking him to join didn't fall flat.

And thus, our "anti-Career" alliance is born.

We introduce ourselves before another awkward moment of silence ensues. Araucaria breaks it with the simplest question ever, but one we've overlooked: "So, where are we meeting in the arena? Do we have any plans?"

I exchange mortified glances with Moss and Lilly. It's horrid that we're so unorganized, we haven't even laid out any basic plans.

"Why don't we all meet in the Cornucopia?" Lilly suggests. "Moss and I will both have no trouble getting there. _We've_ trained." I roll my eyes at her vanity.

"And then," Moss adds, "from there, we can head to the most basic terrain there is. The safest place, hopefully. Usually there's a forest in the arena; we could go there."

"And once we know what the arena is like," Araucaria adds, a hint of sadness creeping into his voice, as if he can't quite believe he's saying this, "we can plan different ways to take out the Careers."

I grin and sling my arms around my newfound allies. "Sounds like a plan."


	25. Evening Scene In The Capitol Part Three

**A/N: **You know, I have written way over 5,000 words just on these A/Ns for you. You don't know how long I take to spew out all this stuff. I know you're all thinking "well don't then, and leave us in peace to read the chapter, we're only reading this A/N in case it contains anything important", but you don't know all the effort I put into this! Come on guys, give Snev a round of applause! *listens to the blank silence*. Well then! That is IT! I'm on strike. You want A/Ns from Snev? Well YOU'RE NOT GETTING ANY MORE! Hah! See how you like that! Now feast your eyes on the A/N for this chapter by... nightfuries (D9 Male), because it will be your LAST! ;)

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><p><em>If it seems a childish thing to do, do it in remembrance that you are a child<br>~Frederick Buechner_

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><p>The sun is slowly setting over the Capitol but no one notices the diminishing light. Here they have electricity all the time and the place is so brightly lit that my eyes watered the first time I saw it. In District 9 we have electricity most of the time, since it's required when we're engineering and creating new mutts, and of course, while the Games are showing, but it's nothing compared to the Capitol.<p>

Mind you, nothing in our district is comparable to the Capitol. Whereas I never got a full meal in my life but here the word "hunger" is unknown to all the inhabitants, unless it's directly followed by the word "games". One meal here could have fed the seven of us back home for three months. The quantity of the food is only surpassed by the quality of it. Food so rich in flavour I threw up the first night on the train after having eaten more than I ever had in my life.

Unfortunately no matter how marvellous the food or pretty the lights are doesn't change the fact that most of us are going to be dead in the next few days. I shake my head to get rid of the thought and focus instead on the scene in front of me. Ogden Reeves is sitting at the table, along with Quentin, a small nervous-looking man who's supposed to be my mentor, Lila, Sapphire's mentor and Sapphire herself. Tomorrow's our private training sessions with the Gamemakers, an event that will ultimately determine how many sponsors we'll have, and we're both a little tense because of it. I have absolutely no idea what I'll do for them. None of my previous skills will help me during the Games and, aside from tying knots and learning what plants are poisonous, I didn't really develop any new talents during the training days. I sigh; I'll have to decide sooner or later.

A waiter comes to our table, bringing the first course of many. The soup looks delicious; I pick up a spoon hesitantly and slowly start to eat it, under the watchful eye of our escort. He was absolutely horrified the first time we ate on the train. After we'd been shown around it was time for dinner, and I'd fainted from the delicious smells coming from the table. Though I'd been a bit nervous to start eating such rich food, once everyone else had started I didn't see the problem. Until Ogden had gasped and slapped my hands away from my plate.

"What are you doing?" he'd asked, absolutely appalled.

"Um, eating?"

"Not like that! You look like a total savage!"

I'd looked around the table, trying to figure out what I'd done wrong while attempting to ignore the stares everyone was giving me. Then I'd found it; they were all eating with silverware. I mean, I wasn't an idiot, I knew what a fork was, I'd just never used one in my entire life.

I'd picked up the fork slowly and tried to skewer the meat on my plate with it, but that only emitted another loud shriek from Ogden.

"No, not like that! You have to cut it with the knife! Honestly, have you never used cutlery before?"

I'd looked at him, fighting the urge to roll my eyes. What, did he think they gave us forks in jail? "No."

He'd gasped again, and proceeded to spend the entire meal coaching me on my table manners. Because they're going to help me _so much_ when I'm in the arena.

I've gotten the hang of it now though, or at least enough that Ogden doesn't nearly faint when I sit down to eat. The spoon's a lot easier anyways, so I'm pretty good with soup. I concentrate on eating, barely paying attention to the small talk Ogden and our mentors are making until something they say makes me look up.

"Remember last year when we had this soup? And the tribute dumped it all over the carpet? Oh, the stain took _ages _to get out," Ogden says dramatically, glaring at me out of the corner of his eye as if to say _don't make the same mistake._

"The tributes were here?" I ask. Everyone turns to look at me.

"Yes, of course," Ogden says. "Every pair of tributes uses this tower."

"And our rooms," I say slowly. "They're reused?"

"Oh yes. Every male District Nine tribute uses your room and every female tribute uses yours," he answers, gesturing to Sapphire. She lifts her head from the meal, her eyes widening. I don't blame her. The thought of my room being used by every dead tribute from the past 23 Hunger Games makes me shudder.

Ogden continues talking, unaware of the worry that now dances across our faces. "Yes, I remember a short while back when one tribute was convinced his room was haunted by all the deceased children before him. It turned into quite a tourist attraction. I remember the tribute blabbering on about how he could here the other children calling out to him, screaming in pain as though they were dying over and over again."

"Wonderful," I mutter under my breath. Well, if I have nightmares tonight, I'll know who to blame. I glare at Ogden, but he doesn't notice, having returned to his soup.

We finish the course relatively quickly and more waiters return, bearing salad. They all wear white tunics and they never talk. I forget what Ogden said about the dead tributes as I watch them serve us. I've been meaning to ask about them for a while now, and this is my chance.

"So how come they never say anything?" I ask as they leave our table.

"Because they're Avoxes, of course," Ogden replies as though that answers my question. I wait, looking around the table but no one elaborates.

"So how come they never say anything?" I ask again. Ogden gives me a disapproving look, annoyed by my impertinence, but Quentin speaks up.

"T-they've had their tongues cut out," he stutters, not looking me in the eye. He's never talked to me directly, and I'm under the impression that he's scared of me. I don't know how he'll manage to coach me for interviews when the time comes.

"Why?" I ask.

"B-because they've done bad things. They're traitors and c-criminals . . ." he peters off and slowly everyone glances at me. I can feel the heat rising to my face.

"Can I be excused?" I ask Ogden, who's still looking at me. Slowly I slide out of my seat and head out of the dining room, aware that everyone's eyes are still on me. I can't stand walking down the long hall to my room with them watching me, so I take an early turn and end by the tower elevator. I step in and bunch the training floor button unconsciously. I'm not planning on practicing or anything; I just need a long ride so I can think.

I sigh and lean my head against the cool walls of the elevator. I've been getting dirty looks from pretty much everyone since we arrived in the Capitol. Some of the tributes aren't aware of what I am, but those that are cut a wide berth around me. And of course, the Gamemakers know and so do most of the Capitol citizens, since the commentators of the reapings talked about it on live television. Why am I even worrying about what to do in my private training session tomorrow? I'm not getting sponsors no matter what I do.

I can feel the anger rising in me as I continue to think about my position. What gives them the right to call me a criminal and look at me in disgust anyway? All I did was skip a reaping; _they're _the ones killing children every year. So apparently refusing to celebrate one of their "holidays" is a national felony but mass murder is a-okay. Good to know we have such a fair justice system.

_Ah well, no use looking for fairness in the Capitol,_ I think, letting out a sigh. You just have to go along with it here. Complaining about it won't change anything. You'll just wind up with your tongue cut off, serving future tributes. Or dead. Either way, it won't get you anywhere.

The elevator lets out a soft _bing_ and the doors open. I'd completely forgotten where I was for a second. I pause, debating whether to head right back up to our floor, but I don't want to go back to find them still eating. I think I've had enough of people staring at me for one day.

I hop out of the elevator into the big training gymnasium, planning on just pacing back and forth for a little while until I can be sure it's all clear upstairs, but something stops me. The room's still set up like it was this morning, so all the equipment is in place. All the lights are off and I can just barely see the outlines of everything in the gym. The sparring ring, the plants center, the three massive hanging dummies used to practice various skills. Only right now, there are _four _hanging dummies.

I blink hard and squint at them, wondering if I'm seeing things, but just then one of the dummies drops from its hanging position above the ground. I wait for the loud crash as it hits the floor, but none comes. Instead, it hooks its legs around the dummy nearest it and hangs there by its legs a few feet off the ground.

I stand there with my mouth wide open like a total idiot, wondering what just happened. Is the training equipment coming to life? But then slowly my brain comes to a more realistic conclusion; that was a _person. _I watch in awe as slowly they scramble up the dummy, using only their legs, until they come into a comfortable sitting position on its shoulders. Whoever's up there is pretty talented. Before I can stop myself I step forward and shout, "Hey!"

The figure whirls around in my direction and quickly leaps off the dummy, doing a hurried flip in the air before landing solidly on the ground and sprinting away as fast as they can. I curse myself inwardly. Why did I have to do that? Even if I wanted to get to know whoever it was, there are plenty of better, and less intimidating, ways than shouting "Hey!" I shake my head and for the briefest second, thinking about chasing after the tribute, for I'm sure it is one of them, since there's no reason for a Capitol person to be in here at this time of night. But I figure that'll only scare the wits out of them, so I sigh and turn back to the elevator.

On the ride up I think about who it could have been. It was too dark to get a look at their face but I'm pretty sure it was a girl, and obviously one with training. That immediately makes me think of the Careers, especially the girl from 2 who's been contorting herself into all sorts of weird shapes since we got here, but if it was one of them I doubt they'd have run from me. I try to remember who else it could have been, but I'm not terribly familiar with any of the tributes. Most of the time they're a little too busy avoiding and glaring at me for any conversations to really go on.

The elevator rings again and the doors open once more, revealing our floor. It seems pretty empty, which is good. I turn the corner to get to our rooms and bump right into Sapphire.

"Sorry," I whisper. She nods apologetically, but I notice that her eyes are slightly red. I wonder why she was standing in the middle of the corridor but then it hits me; she was looking at the door to her room. Ogden's words come back to me and I remember all the dead tributes that have passed through here. "Don't worry," I say, trying to be encouraging. "It scares me too."

She shakes her head and I watch a tear roll down her cheek. Oh no, what did I do? "Sorry, I'm . . . I'm not very good with . . ." I bite my lip, trying to explain what I mean with my hands, but it just ends up looking like they're having some sort of fit. I sigh. "Sorry."

She shakes her head again. "It's not you." She wipes away the tear from her face and takes a deep breath. "My sister died in the Games a few years ago."

"Oh," is all I can say. We stand there for a moment in silence. "I'm sorry. How did she . . ." I start to ask but stop as I realise what an insensitive question it is.

She sniffs and bites her lip. "She-she was killed by a mutt. An Elecwol. Our chariot costumes."

I think back to when we first got here and were handed over to our crazy stylists, who outfitted us in those ridiculous black costumes with the light-up glasses. It all makes sense now. Something had seemed off about Sapphire that night, not just the fact that she kind of fell out of the chariot but other things too, like I remember her wiping her eyes before we got on, as though she'd been crying. I'd just been too stupid to realise it at the time. "I never liked those costumes anyways," I say with a small grin. She just looks at me and I suddenly feel like banging my head against a wall. _Idiot! Her sister died and you're discussing the Capitol's poor fashion sense? Stupid, stupid, stupid._

I look up at her, expecting her to burst into tears and run into her room or slap me and storm off angrily, or maybe a mix of both. She gazes at me for a second longer, than a slow smile creeps onto her lips. It's probably just out of pity at my poor sense of humour, but hey, it's better than the alternatives. "With those dorky light-up glasses?"

"And the huge panther ears?"

Soon we're both laughing and the memories of our costumes. It's nice to see a more cheerful expression on her face; I don't think I've seen her look even the slightest bit happy since I first met her. Slowly the laughter dies down and the atmosphere sobers again as she glances at her door again. "I just can't believe, I mean, she used that room," she whispers. "I don't know what my parents are going to do without either of us."

I open my mouth, wanting to tell her that it'll be fine, that she'll get to see her parents again. But I stop myself. How can I tell her that? There's 24 of us, she knows the score. She's a tiny 13 year-old, all the careers are at least twice her size. My reassurances aren't going to help. Besides, only one of us comes home. Don't I want to see my dad again?

The hopelessness envelops me as I realise that I'm not going home. I had a small bit of hope when I left, but now, I know there's no chance. Back in the Justice Building really was the last time I'll get to see my dad and Webb and Caia. I'll never return to District 9. I don't want to. Not if it means that the girl in front of me has to die.

"We should ally," I blurt out. She looks at me sharply.

"What?"

"If anyone wins this, it should be one of us. That way, both of our families will prosper. And our friends. There's a better chance of us surviving if we band together."

She considers this. I can see the unasked question in her eyes. _Only one of us can live_. But thankfully she doesn't pose it out loud. She's smart for her age, I can tell. We both know that there's little chance of either of us even surviving the bloodbath, let alone making it to the final two. Better just take it one step at a time and not think ahead. _Never think about the consequences, _I say to myself, imagining my dad's face. _A good thief concentrates on the task at hand and worries about what might happen when it happens._

She's eyeing me closely. I can't blame her for not trusting me; I highly doubt any of the other tributes would. I'm a criminal, an outcast and only an idiot would put their life in my hands. "Alright," she says slowly.

I look up, surprised. "Really?" She nods. "Great! That's great." I grin. "I guess the Careers better look out, eh? There's a new team that's going to win." She smiles.

"Well, good-night," she says, heading into her room.

"'Night," I say back. She closes the door as I open mine. I can't stop grinning. We might actually have a chance. I fall on to my bed, contemplating what just happened, accepting the fact that I won't be going home. Sapphire deserves to win more than I do; who knows, they might just throw me back in jail when I get home and pretend my Games never happened. I need to resign myself to the fact that I will die in the arena, but I need to last as long as possible to make sure Sapphire wins. Her victory will help my family and friends as well, right? I just have to come to terms with the fact that I will die in the next few days.

The thought upsets me. Not that I'm going to die, not exactly, but the fact that no one will remember. I mean, my dad will, and Webb and Caia will, but then they'll pass on eventually as well and no one will ever remember I existed. I'll just become one more dead tribute, one more memory that'll haunt this room. That gives me an idea.

I walk over to the mouthpiece we can order food from and ask for a steak. It appears almost instantly, hot and steaming, along with what I really want, which is a big knife to cut it with. I eat the steak anyways, forgetting how hungry I was. I have to admit, it's nice eating in here without Ogden breathing down my neck about manners. Then I take the knife over to a blank section of the wall and begin carve words into it.

It takes me a while, but the product is pretty good. I step back to admire my handiwork.

_Remember the old me,_

_Before I was killed or became a killer,_

_Before the Games ruined my life._

_Remember me, Ari Locus, 15 year-old District 9 tribute_

I realise that once I leave this room the Capitol will probably find it and cover it up, or paint over it. But it comforts me that it's there, and any effort they go through to hiding it will just go to show that they are remembering me. I smile and lie back on the bed, at peace now, knowing that I will be remembered.


	26. Private Training Sessions Part One

**A/N: **... *grunts* isabugg (D1 Male). Weird format. Really long. Read.

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><p><strong>Isabugg's AN:** *insert awesome A/N by Snev that includes an explanation for this being in third person and how it is written by the AMAZING isabugg* WHY HELLO THERE. AGAIN. COUGH. I'm Isabelle (but you can call me Belle) and you haven't seen me since the first chapter of this story. This could be thought of as a sort of reunion, yeah? That's special. c; It's been rough in the ToB community ever since the loss of Nick racked through the little family that we authors created. It was something that took a couple days to sink in, and I'm still not able to completely grasp it yet. I talked to him, I joked with him, I sympathized with him, and in what seemed like a blink of an eye, he was gone. I just wanted to take the time to express how much I truly appreciate him taking the time to get to know all 24 authors he worked with. He treated each and every one of us with the same amount of kindness and warmth, and I doubt that I'll ever meet another person as genuinely caring and considerate as him again. On a less heavy note, I just wanted to say that Roy's tribute spotlight (a blog post/ interview-like thing meant to reveal more of a character's personality) is on the 24tributes24authors webpage. It's pretty eye-opening, and you should check it out. ;) Thanks for reading!

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><p><strong>Roy Rousseau — Private Training Sessions Part One (D1 - D4) by isabugg<strong>

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><p>"<em>I have walked a stair of swords, <em>

_I have worn a coat of scars. _

_I have vowed with hollow words, _

_I have lied my way to the stars."_

—Song of Sapphique

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><p>A rectangular mirror leaned lopsidedly against the bare, cream-colored wall of the room Roy had been residing in. Its frame was made of sleek black granite, various patterns of vines and rosebuds chiseled into its solid surface.<p>

The fragile beauty of the mirror seemed drastically unfitting the moment he had walked in front of it and peered at his reflection with hard, golden eyes, letting his gaze slide over his disheveled shock of crimson hair, the dark smudges of insomnia tinting his lower eyelids, and, of course, the scars looping around his forearms, like a morbid helix of inflamed skin.

Crinkling his eyebrows together in disgust, Roy turned away, unable to ignore the muted prickling that surged through the scar tissue the moment he had, twirling its way from where it started at the bottoms of his palms and ending just below the crooks of his elbows. He shuddered.

A noise abruptly punctured Roy's thoughts—a soft rapping at the door, like someone was tapping at its wooden surface with just the tip of their fingernail. He exhaled sharply, wiping his face clean of emotion and squaring his shoulders before making long strides toward the door and throwing it open.

Outside stood the District 1 escort, Creon. His golden hair stood in tousled strands at the top of his head, streaking down the nape of his neck and tickling the tips of his ears. He looked up with a scowl, making the colorless gems encrusting the brim of his cheeks contort. "You're late again, Rousseau."

"You mean there was _another_ morning meeting today? Just between you and me?" Roy drawled, letting his voice slick itself with mock horror. "Oh _no_. I'm terrible sorry for thinking that precious sleep was more important than spending time with my good ol' pal Cr—"

"You haven't been getting any sleep," Creon interrupted, unamused, "We both know that."

Roy slowly let his eyes fix themselves on his escort's harsh bronze ones for a moment before crossing his arms in front of his chest and lazily leaning against the wall to his side. "Are you coming onto me?" he asked jeeringly, arching one of his eyebrows. "Please, Creon. I know my dashing good looks are hard to ignore, but you must try to restrain yourself."

"Don't give me any of that bullshit," Creon groaned frustratedly, "Your mother told me all about your little jokes. The way you start spouting them out to hide the fact that you're always _scared. _Pathetic, if you ask me."

Roy felt himself falter, his eyes squinting and his lips pushing sternly together until they were a bloodless line. "She's...She's a crazy old bat. Everything she says is nonsense."

"She's only thirty. I'm older than her."

"Which explains why you're standing outside of my door at four in the morning."

Creon narrowed his icy gaze. "...Touché."

"Literally translated from French, that means 'to touch.'" Roy smiled crookedly. "See, I _knew_ you were coming onto me."

Suddenly, Creon lashed his hand out and tangled it in the dark material of Roy's shirt collar, violently pulling the tribute forward as his glare latched onto his features. "In English, it means 'fuck you, you insolent prick.'" He turned on his heel and started walking roughly down the hallway, towing Roy behind. "Come with me."

Roy stumbled as Creon forcibly dragged him out of his room, attempting to swat the escort's spidery hand away from his collar as he hobbled clumsily behind him. "Okay, okay! _Jeez_. You've made your point. I'll follow you obediently to wherever you want to take me," he stressed, and when Creon craned his neck to give him an incredulous look, Roy airily added, "I promise."

Creon hesitantly slid his hand away, leaving the fabric it was gripping to lay in a crumpled bunch below Roy's collarbone. "Hurry up, then," he sharply exhaled, turning away and taking long, soundless strides down the corridor, "We need to get to the Training Room before everyone else wakes up."

Promptly, Roy fell into step beside him, noticing with slight amusement as his escort's eyebrows rose with surprise. Roy thought of the persona he had made for himself over the years—unreliable, despicable, troublesome—and was pleased at the thought that it may have clouded his genuine demeanor, leaving the shameful delicacy of it dwindling into the depths until it would no longer crack the callous mask of indifference and vulgarity he had spent so long crafting.

_Good_, he thought, _Maybe now I won't have to try so hard._

Almost mockingly, Creon turned the corner and prowled down the corridor that led to the room that Skye, the District 1 female tribute, had been occupying, and Roy instantly found himself having to struggle to keep his stance arrogantly straight and intimidating.

It was something about her—the way her deep, brilliant blue eyes were always clear and possessed enough potency to strike through anything she looked at—that reduced Roy's usually fiery spirit into a smoldering pile of ash, and as he moved closer to where she was sleeping, the gentle, sweet sound of her breathing slinking through the hallways, he began to involuntarily tremble.

As Creon rounded another corner, his tread so silent and smooth that he appeared to be gliding across the thick carpet, he muttered, "Calm down. We're only walking this way because it's the quickest route to the elevator." A faint smile touched the corner of his gaunt mouth. "I know how you would hate to disturb Miss Azurite so early in the morning."

Roy swallowed hard, a wave of relief surging through his veins as he ran an unsteady hand through his tousled locks of crimson hair, the strands each wreathing slightly at the ends and brushing against the sides of his white face. He took a deep breath, sliding his mask back into place. "You're right. When I want to disturb people, I generally prefer the late evenings," he mumbled, his voice quiet and raspy.

Creon sucked in an extended breath, his bony fingers rising to knead his temple before his chest sharply fell with a sigh.

The corridors were narrow and dimly lit, the candelabras that were posed at the higher points of the bare walls only able to emit a small amount of flickering light from the small flames that licked across their top halves. Their glow created shadows that danced and flashed across the angular panes of the hallway, making Roy feel unsteady on his feet as he followed his escort into a passageway that gradually became more spacious as it went on, ending in a modestly furnished area with thick carpet and a chandelier that bursted out of the arched ceiling with a flare of crystal and bronze.

Creon made a noise that sounded like a cross between a grunt and a grating breath, and Roy let his amber eyes rake toward him only to see that he was standing impatiently inside the square-shaped compartment of the elevator at the far side of the room, holding a skeletal finger against a button in front of him that held open the elevator's massive metal doors.

"I don't want to make you strain those delicate feet of yours," Creon muttered, lowering his head to peer at Roy from behind his dark eyelashes, "but I would like to make it to the Training Room before this year's Hunger Games are over."

Roy arched one of his eyebrows incredulously, but he ignored the instinct that screamed at him to defy his orders, ramming his fists into his pockets before obediently taking long strides toward his escort. He had only just stepped into the elevator when its doors had slammed shut behind him, causing his stance to become rickety as the floor underneath him sharply plunged downward.

As Roy quickly reached his white hands out to sternly grip at the bronze handrails around the elevator compartment, his feet slipping slightly and strands of his disheveled hair falling into his eyes in a shock of red, Creon couldn't help but let the slightest whisper of a grin wriggle on his thin lips. He brought his sylphlike fingers up to adjust his shirt collar before feeling the elevator lurch to a stop, its doors flapping open before him and revealing the expansive swathe of the Training Room, its rows of training equipment neatly filed into place after having been feverishly worked with for the past three days.

Creon stepped forward, and the lights above him instantly flickered to life, the sudden brightness stinging the back of the escort's eyes. He was about to crane his neck to snap at Roy to hurry, but he found himself doing a double take once he found that his tribute was standing right behind him, his full mouth upturned into a smirk.

"Right, then," Roy chimed, his amber eyes lighting up with a slight spark of eagerness, "What'd you want to show me, Cre-Cre? It must be pretty good, considering you dragged me out of bed at this _ungodly _hour—"

"The shadows under your eyes prove that you and your bed have been strangers for quite some time now," Creon carped, exhaling sharply before promptly turning away and walking soundlessly towards the far end of the room. "Follow me."

The large lights above them voided with a faint buzzing sound that was especially prominent in the hush of the night, making Roy's throat tighten with a peculiar sense of forebode as he followed his escort to the far side of the room, not noticing until they had halted that they had been making their way toward the fire starting station, its small shelves of matches and flint making his scars prickle hauntingly. His shoulders involuntarily rose with discomfort until strands of his tousled hair brushed against them, his eyebrows crinkling as a wave of subdued tremors trickled their way down his spine.

"C-Creon," Roy shakily started, swallowing hard in an effort to remain composed, "You of all people should know about my, uh, troubles with _fire—" _The word tasted sweet on his tongue, like the way a drug would after he had been denying himself of it for a lifetime, and it took every ounce of his self control to not lunge forward and wrap his slender fingers around the various instruments of destruction, striking them to life until the area around him was set ablaze.

Creon narrowed his already chilling gaze. "Just as I thought, you disgusting pyromaniac."

Roy shot him a look as scorching as a wildfire.

"What have you been doing these past few days? Entertaining yourself with knot tying?" Creon took a harsh step forward, his arm tensing as if he meant to slash it viciously in front of him. "You're mental. Insane. _Demented. _Everyone already knows that, except _you."_

Roy's eyes widened, and Creon couldn't help but feel a pang in his chest as he realized that the boy suddenly appeared frail and vulnerable and—un-Roy-like. "No...I'm _not _crazy—"

"Yes, you are!" Setting his chin, the escort continued irresolutely, wrenching his gaze away from his tribute and knotting his hands into fists at his sides. "You can continue to deny yourself the truth. Continue living a lie, dismissing all the stares you get because of those _scars_, just so you can call yourself _normal _at the end of the day..." He paused, his voice losing its roughness and becoming raspy, as if the outburst had thoroughly strained him. "...Or you can _embrace_ what sets you apart from the ordinary. Make it beautiful instead of horrifying. Use it to your advantage in the arena."

The silence that followed was so smothering that Roy felt his chest burn and his eyes sting, his teeth clamping together so roughly that his jaw ached. His ears were ringing, the grating, shrill noise making him want to submerge his head into a bucket of arctic water.

Creon swallowed harshly, still avoiding Roy's searing gaze as he turned himself around and began rummaging in the fire starting equipment, his spindly fingers wrapping themselves around a small flask of clear liquid. He allowed himself a moment to let his usual nonchalance recover itself before steadily stepping toward his tribute and uncapping the flask, tentatively hovering it below Roy's nose and letting its foul fumes writhe out of its opening. "Recognize it?"

A sick, terrible noise slithered through Roy's throat, as if he was struggling to choke out words while being strangled. "_Gasoline—_"

"Exactly," Creon muttered, unable to stop his voice from diluting into just above a whisper as he watched Roy weakly shrink away from the flask, his eyes shutting as if he was confronting his worst nightmare.

The escort roughly shoved the cap back into the flask, stifling its thick, sickly sweet aroma before locking his fierce gaze onto Roy's severely enfeebled one. "You only have a few hours. I want you to collect yourself. Try to get some sleep." He turned around and placed the flask back where it had been on the shelf, concealing it in an array of flint and dried wood. "And the next time I see you, you will be your usual aggravating, problematic self. The only difference is that when you walk in here for your private training session, you will remember that I hid that gasoline in here for you." He raked an exhausted hand through his tousled locks of golden hair. "And you will proceed to amaze the Gamemakers with your pyrotechnics. I don't want _any_ hesitation. Got it?"

Roy shakily looked up at his escort, his amber eyes large with a mixture of fear and utter confusion. "Why are you helping me?"

Creon let out a breathy sigh, letting his eyes, the golden irises shining with muted anger, tentatively slide over Roy's face. "Please. As if I'd ever help a full-grown brat like you." And with that, he stood himself up and began slowly walking back to the elevator, his exhausted, crooked frame making him look ten years older than he really was.

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><p>Skye padded delicately in the small hallway outside her room with nothing but awe touching her porcelain features, her golden ringlets cascading over her shoulders and her ice-blue eyes skidding almost wildly over her surroundings.<p>

_Everything is just so...bright_, she thought, her small heart fluttering in her chest.

The District 1 floor of the Training Center was well-lit from both vintage-styled candelabras and modern chandeliers, both encrusted with shimmering crystals and chiseled bronze. The windows were expansive and framed with curtains, their silky material sleek against Skye's fingertips, and the world outside of their clear, glassy surfaces was just so vast and absolutely _endless_ that she had trouble restraining herself from throwing the windows open and greedily sucking in that fresh, outside air she had been deprived of all her life.

_Outside. Outside. Outside. _Her thoughts pounded against her skull as a wave of flurrying emotions surged through her veins. _Free. Free. Finally free._

"You look like you just learned how to walk."

A voice like velvet slinked through the hallway, and Skye raised her head in the direction of the noise, feeling her fair cheeks flush, a wash of warm color against the milky pallor of her skin.

A tall male with wind-blown locks of dark auburn hair and electric blue eyes was walking toward her, his full mouth upturned into a half-smile. His arms were corded with lean muscles, sliding under his bronze skin in a way that made Skye's heart swell, and a few light scars marked his calloused knuckles, a permanent reminder of his journey to the arena and back just last year.

His smile widened across the lower half of his face, scrunching his cheeks and making laugh lines fan out from the corners of his eyes. "Sorry, I didn't mean to startle you," he said, his voice like gentle ocean waves lapping onto shore. He stopped once he was only about a foot away from Skye, holding his hand out and making his approachable, friendly air prominent. "I don't think that we have properly met yet. My name is Matt. I'm a past victor." His grin turned crooked. "And I'm _technically_ not allowed to have private conversations with you right now."

Skye widened her light azure eyes at him. "Then you should leave. You might get in trouble," she trilled, her voice like the soft tinkling of bells. Her gaze slid toward Matt's outstretched hand, and confusion lined the softness of her face. "...What? Do you want me to give you something?"

Matt blinked. "Uh, yes. A handshake, please."

Skye's features flashed with a deeper confusion for a brief second before she proceeded to raise both her hands and swiftly shake them from side to side. "Is this some sort of test? Do you need to know about my hand durability?"

She watched as Matt moved his hand from in front of him to place it in front of his mouth, his eyebrows crinkling together as if he was trying desperately to hold back laughter.

"Matty dear, please stop harassing this year's tributes." A slender, womanly figure stepped into Skye's view, her mane of platinum blonde hair swishing behind her shoulder blades and her mint green eyes hardening with dislike. Skye instantly recognized her as Jaloux, a victor from couple years' past. Behind her came Creon, his golden eyes sharp with exasperation, and Roy, his own cat-like eyes rimmed with dark circles from severe lack of sleep.

Roy seemed to falter as Skye locked her gaze on him, a tint of red coloring the paleness of his cheeks before he swiftly looked downward and hid it with his tousled ginger locks.

"Ah, I see you've already seen some of the aftereffects of her...situation," Creon coughed, walking his way over to Matt and placing a light hand on his shoulder. Skye noticed how his steps were smooth and soundless, like the deadly slither of a snake. "She's spent her life in a basement training for the games. You can't expect her to know about any social customs," Creon let his eyes rake over to Skye's hands, still raised in front of her small torso, "...like handshakes."

"That's adorable," Matt said, seemingly unaware of the negative effect his words had on Jaloux as her arms began to quake with anger at her sides.

"You mean terrible," Roy muttered, and everyone turned their heads to look at him with surprise, as if they had already forgotten that he was there. He lowered his eyelids, as if he wanted to appear bored, before inhaling deeply and casting his fiery gaze toward his feet. "Her parents locked her up. She hasn't seen a trace of sunshine for most of her life. I don't see how that's _adorable_ at all."

Matt's eyes widened with horror. "No, I—I didn't mean it that way!"

"As much as I like watching you all squirm with discomfort," Creon started, turning away and slithering down the hallway, "We really should start getting ready to go to the Training Center. After all, it would be most...unsatisfactory if the tributes from 1 this year were both incompetent and late to their own private training sessions."

As Creon passed Roy, Skye thought that she saw them both exchange a look filled with knowingness and...guilt? She parted her full, rosy lips to question them, but Roy had already sharply turned away, avoiding her gaze as he took long strides down the corridor.

A warm, big hand cradled the small of Skye's back, and she looked up with a slight start, only to see Matt frowning down at her.

"I didn't mean to offend you," he griped, the brilliance of his blue eyes seemingly clouded over, "I should've thought more about what I said before I said it. It was extremely uncalled for, and I'm sor—"

"Why?" Skye asked, her ice blue eyes trailing upward and filling with a genuine spark of curiosity. "You complimented me. You said I was adorable."

Matt raised his eyebrows before smiling crookedly down at her. "...Yeah. You are."

Jaloux let out a theatrical groan, her voice like high-pitched static as she tangled her willowy fingers into the material of Matt's shirt and pulled him toward her. "_Matty dear,_" she muttered, each word seemingly tipped with poison, "What did I _say_ about harassing the tributes? Let this poor girl be." She shot Skye a venomous glare from behind her dark fringe of eyelashes, her blonde tendrils of hair spilling down her frontside as she leaned forward. "After all, she's practically mentally handicapped."

"No she's n—" Matt started, but before he could finish, Jaloux had started dragging him down the corridor and out of sight.

Skye blinked after them, knotting her small, white hands in front of her. "How strange," she murmured quietly to herself before turning around and padding back into her room, knowing that she should quickly change into her training clothes and meet the group before Creon roasted her alive.

The clothes had been laid out on her bed—a silver tunic made of flexible, breathy material and black leggings—and Skye swiftly threw them on, noticing how it was very form-fitting. It clung to her protruding hipbones and emphasized the curves of her torso, and its low-cut collar made her exasperatedly tug it upward before she slipped her delicate feet into a pair of black leather boots and hurried into the hallway.

She turned into the dining room, only to see that everyone was already there—Matt was struggling to eat his breakfast in peace, but Jaloux insisted on feeding him bits of buttered toast, Creon was sipping a steaming mug of coffee in a corner and glaring at nothing, and Roy stood crookedly beside him, as if he didn't know where else to go.

Roy's amber eyes locked on Skye the moment she entered, and once she met his gaze, she saw his pale cheeks redden again before he stubbornly looked away. She peered at him with puzzlement etching her features.

"Ah, look who finally showed up," Creon muttered, peeling himself away from where he was situated and making his way out of the dining room. "Grab a piece of toast and let's head out."

Skye did as she was told, plucking the toast from where it laid on a platter in the middle of the dining table and following everyone as they filed out of the dining room. Matt found his way to her side before flashing her an easygoing smile, staying so close that she could feel his warmth radiating through his clothes.

Once they had reached the elevator and Creon had jabbed a spindly finger on the down button, Skye quietly cleared her throat and stepped forward so that she was in front of her escort, her azure eyes the exact color of a cloudless sky as she held the toast she had previously snatched from the dining room in front of her. "I grabbed it like you said," she announced, "Now what do you want me to do?"

Matt tried to suppress a fit of laughter as he bent downwards and wrapped his hands around his stomach, and Skye turned her head to eye him confusedly. "What happened? What's so funny?"

Creon brought a pallid hand up to massage his temple before the elevator doors shot open behind him. "Eat the toast, Skye," he ordered simply, stepping into the dimly lit compartment and claiming a spot in the corner, and the District 1 female responded by timidly nibbling at the crisp crust.

Matt and Jaloux stayed behind as Roy and Skye followed their mentor into the elevator, Matt looking genuinely disappointed and Jaloux flashing them all a superficial grin, as sharp and cutting as glass, before the elevator doors roughly shut and cut them out of view.

"I will beat you both senseless if you don't get a score above six," Creon muttered simply as the carpeted floor below them began to lurch downward, as if he was just stating fact, "You're Careers. Roy, you are the _leader_ of the Careers. Show everyone what you're made of."

"We're made of flesh, bone, and blood," Skye airily noted from around her now bitten piece of toast, her bright blue eyes flashing and her trilling voice slinking through the elevator compartment like a ribbon strung with silver bells. "Should I tell the Gamemakers that during my session? Will they like me more?"

Creon eyed her blankly, his expression incredulous and exasperated as he parted his thin lips to speak, only to be cut off by the elevator doors suddenly flying open. "Fine, Skye, do what you want," the escort mumbled before roughly pushing his tributes out of the elevator. Roy whirled around to glare at him, but the doors shut before his flaring eyes could make contact.

Roy muttered a string of insults under his breath as he slowly examined the waiting room with bored eyes, his gaze locking on the towering metal doors at the far side of the area. "Good-for-nothing, moody, pushy..."

"Flesh, bone, and blood," Skye interrupted with a clear, light voice, ridding herself of the remainder of her breakfast by setting it on the armrest of a nearby chair. "You should tell them that too, Roy. That way we'll both get high scores."

He looked down at her, his usually stern features softening as he took in her small, fragile appearance. "...Yeah. Thanks." He couldn't help but study the small girl at his side—her sleek ringlets of blonde hair, each strand seemingly strung with gold as they glittered in the bright lights, her cheeks, always tinted with the softest shade of rose pink, and her lips, a much deeper shade of pink, rounded and plump.

"Why are you staring at me?" Skye abruptly asked, turning her head to return his gaze, nothing but curiosity dancing in the depths of her blue irises. Roy responded by flushing and turning away, making her stare after him with uncertainty lining her delicate features. "Why do you always do that? Do you not like me?"

"No," Roy answered curtly, hiding his face behind his disheveled locks of scarlet hair, "No, it's not that. I...I like you."

Skye beamed up at him. "I'm glad," she chirped, "We're district partners. It's good that we like each other."

Roy felt his chest tighten, though he wasn't sure why. It made him feel weak, as if the wall he had built between himself and the rest of the world was crumbling. He fished around in the depths of his mind for a snarky comment, something that would make this girl furiously stalk away so he wouldn't have to feel like his skin was flaring with heat just because her deep cyan gaze was sliding over him, but for the first time in what felt like ages, he couldn't think of a single thing.

Instead, he lamely mumbled, "Yeah. I'm glad, too."

Almost on cue, the speakers positioned around the waiting room crackled to life before a monotone voice fizzed through them. "Roy Rousseau, District 1 male."

Roy felt Skye suddenly become animated at his side, her yellow curls spilling across her shoulder blades as she looked up at him, her lips pulled into a warm smile. "That's you."

Roy couldn't help but grin back at her before he stepped away and began walking toward the large metal doors at the other side of the room. His cheeks burned as he heard his district partner squeak an enthusiastic, "Good luck!" from behind him, and as he nudged the dense doors open and stepped inside the room where he would be judged, not a single trace of anxiety was weighing him down.

He let his amber eyes slide toward the Gamemakers sitting at the far end of the room with amusement, a smirk working itself onto his full mouth. "It's a shame that I'm the first tribute you'll see today," he noted, his calm voice slinking wistfully around the room, "since all the others you see from now on will be a terrible letdown."

The Gamemakers' aged faces twisted under the dark material of their hoods, their eyes completely clear and not a drop of alcohol slicked across their lips. It wasn't customary for a tribute to speak before they were done performing, and as Roy let his spectators' newly risen tensity soak into his bones, he felt the urge to break all the other formalities he could think of twist in his chest.

There was a slight spring in his step as he made his way to the fire starting station, the muscles in his throat tightening and his fresh confidence slowly washing away as he inched closer to the array of ruinous materials. He refused to let his discomfort show as he kneeled himself down next to the shelf Creon had taken him to earlier in the day, blocking the movements his hands made from the Gamemakers with his torso as his slender fingers found their way to the flask, its plain glass surface so clean and reflective that Roy could see a distorted image of his amber eyes in it. He took a deep breath, sternly squaring his shoulders and ignoring how the scar tissue coiling around his forearms had begun to persistently prickle.

He uncapped the flask, only to be immediately assaulted by the sickly sweet scent of the gasoline, making him have to fight the urge to gag. Peering down at the clear liquid, he felt a strange sense of nostalgia stirring in him, memories of how he had unconcernedly poured streams of this fuel over the streets of District 1 and struck a match near the pools of gas, always mesmerized by how a small flame could erupt so suddenly and _beautifully _into a wall of roaring fire.

Roy felt himself flaring up into a roaring fire as he tilted the flask gently in his grip, examining it with soft, golden eyes, as if it was a precious gem. _No more fear_, he sternly thought, standing himself up and feeling his lips stretch into a dark smile, _No more denial._

It was as if he was watching himself from a distance as he involuntarily lost control over his limbs, the way all his incidents had happened in the past—he would observe a box of matches or a lump of flint in his palm, no intentions of making it burst into flames, and suddenly he would be watching with shocked eyes as a building in front of him steadily burnt into smoldering ruins.

He didn't need to think about his actions—he hardly knew himself what he was doing—as he carefully put the opening of the flask to his lips and poured the gasoline into his mouth, taking care to securely close his throat before any of the poisonous fuel could slither down it. It tasted sharply pungent and somewhat oily, its harsh, acidic taste burning the surface of his tongue and making his nose wrinkle as he swiftly snatched a box of matches and a bottle of weaker, less powerful lighter fluid from the shelf and turned himself around to face the Gamemakers.

They looked expectant, their eyebrows risen with slight boredom and the keen curves of their chins propped lazily in the palms of their hands. Roy leered mischievously. _They don't suspect a thing._

With cutting suddenness, Roy twisted the bottle of lighter fluid in his fingers before masterfully letting it stream across the floor in front of him, noticing how the fuel didn't smell nearly as intoxicating and sour as the gasoline did as he made spiraling swirls with the liquid and briskly struck a match behind his back, not allowing the Gamemakers to notice it before he flung it into the puddles at his feet.

The eruption was quick, so shockingly _sudden__,_ and Roy found himself having to stare wide-eyed at the flickering inferno for a few moments, the flames licking upward and rising to a length so tall that he found himself having to tilt his head upward to see the top of them. It crackled and sputtered with sparks, the heat it was emanating so powerful that Roy could feel it singe the surface of his skin.

It was as if he had entered a daze, the way he swiped his arms through the flames with such staggering speed that it didn't have a chance to add to his burn scars, twisting and contorting the fire with such expertise that it looked like a morbidly elegant, stunning painting. The fuel sloshed in his mouth, squelching against his teeth and making it difficult to maintain a straight face as its bitter, scathing taste continued to bite at his tongue.

_Now. You need to do it _now_ before you accidentally swallow the gasoline_, he thought harshly, demanding his body to obey.

Roy walked around his wall of flames until he was standing beside it, sneaking a hasty look at the Gamemakers only to see that they were gaping at him with a slight tinge of fear touching their features. It was only then that he realized how intimidating and _evil_ he must have looked—his biceps tensed to the point where his arms looked like they were corded with iron, his scarlet hair flashing with the same burning radiance as the flames he had created, his jaw clenched and his head lowered, causing him to glare in front of him with hard, callous eyes from beneath his dark fringe of eyelashes...

_Now_, he thought again, and without even a speck of further hesitation, he swiveled himself around on his heel before breathing sharply in through his nose and letting the gasoline spray itself through his teeth at the inferno beside him, giving the illusion that he was breathing fire.

Inhale air, exhale flames.

Roy arched his back forward, wheezing out every last bit of gasoline from his mouth and watching as the inferno in front of him distorted and writhed in the direction of his breath.

The Gamemakers were taken aback, leaning back in their chairs and feeling the feverish heat from the fire slither across their skin, the brightness of it dancing in the depths of their dark irises.

Roy was left panting, the sharp, vinegary taste in his mouth making his lips twist into a sickened grimace. He let himself take in his work for a few moments—the twisting flames, the way they whirled and billowed in the air like thousands of red, orange, and yellow ribbons—before he coolly straightened his spine and inhaled deeply, letting the warmth from the fire beside him wriggle against his flesh.

Abruptly, a high-pitched beeping sound pierced Roy's eardrums, echoing from above. The shrill sound bounced off the wooden railings and struck downwards at him, and he had to resist the urge to exasperatedly plug his ears as he looked up and saw a dozen smoke detectors flashing wildly at him. Sprinklers, seemingly positioned in every possible crevice of the ceiling, bursted with fine sprays of water, putting out the wall of flames Roy had masterfully and carefully painted and coating everything in the room with a thin layer of wetness.

Roy felt strands of his red hair slick with water before they stuck to the sides of his face, the liquid sliding down the expanse of his white skin in trickling streaks. He looked nonchalantly over to the table of Gamemakers, their faces blank with shock, before shrugging loosely to himself and ambling out of the room.

* * *

><p>A gentle flutter from Skye's excited pulse touched her small ribcage, and she couldn't help but let her ice blue eyes eagerly wander around the vast space before her, her petite legs not used to having so much flooring to walk upon. She allowed herself the enjoyment of slipping around the room, her booted feet almost completely silent as the rubber of her shoes gripped securely at the ground.<p>

Back in her cramped basement, she wouldn't be able to walk in a straight line for very long without being met by a windowless wall, but here she could keep on going to her heart's content, the air slithering into her lungs fresh and clean instead of dank and clammy.

Skye was only acutely aware of the elevator doors sliding open occasionally as she plopped into a chair and let her dainty hands slew over the armrests with inquisitiveness painting her features. Everything was so _different_—the light, the furniture, the air, how she didn't have to wake up every morning to her parents stressing that she wasn't training hard enough. It was so _invigorating_, and she couldn't help but greet everything with a delicate grin.

Being reaped was the best thing that had ever happened to her in her fifteen years of life.

Abruptly, the speakers sputtered to life again, and Skye felt her eyelashes flit across the brim of her cheeks as she blinked with surprise. "Skye Azurite, District 1 female."

She hopped out of her chair and landed elegantly on her toes, noticing for the first time that other tributes had filed into the waiting room while she was distracted by the beauties of an ordinary life outside of her basement.

As her booted feet padded against the concrete flooring, their rubber soles making a slight squeaking sound against the sleek floors, she couldn't help but study them. The tributes from 2 sat closely to each other, whispering and chuckling, and although it was probably unknown to them, it was obvious from an outside observer that their eyes brightened in each other's company. The two from 3 were strangers in comparison, the boy a customary copy of an ordinary teenager with plain brown hair and brown eyes and the girl with an untamable pixie cut. The female tribute from 4 was eyeing the ground with displeasure lining her features as she absently fiddled with the silver band around her ring finger, and the male snuck glances at her occasionally, his unkempt brown hair shaggily falling into his eyes.

_What a bizarre bunch_, Skye thought to herself as she placed her palm against the cold surface of the door she had fluidly glided to, her skin prickling, as if the Gamemakers' hard gazes could tear through the dense metal and bore into her flesh. She jerked her hand forward, and the entryway opened itself up to her, revealing a simple room with brushed concrete walls and padded flooring. It looked so similar to the basement Skye had trained in that a shudder surged through her veins, and she found that the task of standing upright had become straining as she took a tentative step into the room and let the door slam shut behind her. It was only then that she noticed the ashy, burnt odor slithering around the room, as if everything around her had been on fire just moments before, and a couple of Avoxes in the far corners on their knees, rubbing soaked rags across the ground as their white faces twisted with displeasure.

Skye had a wistful air about her as she ignored these small setbacks and let her small feet flit across the room, bringing her to a towering rack of an assortment of blades—swords, daggers, scythes, all either glinting with a metallic shine or slicked with a sickly green color indicating that it was poison-tipped—and she felt all the knowledge she gathered from the years of training her parents imposed on her flood into her skull like ice water. She felt the corners of her lips curl into a smile, as if the weapons before her were old friends, and she felt all of her negative emotions wash away from her being as she seemed to gravitate toward a pair of shimmering grip blades.

With stunning suddenness, Skye lunged her hands toward the weapons and whipped them away from their place on the rack, twirling them between her fingers with such skill and swiftness that her movements were barely visible. All of it was natural to her, the way she leaped upward and twirled in the air with both grace and viciousness before landing in front of a dummy and slashing at its throat, swiveling away before the stuffing had a chance to even begin to spill out of the slit and ripping her blades at several other dummies until they were reduced to mere piles of canvas material.

Abruptly, she paused, turning around and eyeing the Gamemakers with innocent blue eyes. They gaped back at her, obviously left dazed by her both her performance and fragile, gentle stature.

"I'm sorry, I forgot to tell you," she chimed, her soft voice tinkling through the room, "We are made of flesh, bone, and blood."

And as the Gamemaker's severely puzzled expressions contorted with both bafflement and amazement, Skye sprung agilely across the floors and proceeded to ferociously destroy all the other dummies the room had to offer, tearing them to ribbons.

* * *

><p>"Hyre Fletching, District 2 male."<p>

The boy's shoulders twitched with slight surprise as the speakers crackled to life, his name slurring through the room. He involuntarily casted his gaze to his side, his dark eyes locking on the girl sitting crookedly at his side, her full mouth twisted into a frown and her eyebrows crinkled with slight anxiety.

"Time to show Jaime and your dad, huh?" she quietly encouraged, forcing a smile to caper on her lips.

Hyre smiled back at her, standing himself up and ramming his fists into his pockets. "Exactly what I was planning to do, Onyx," he said, his voice throaty.

As he turned himself around, his district partner cupped her slender hands around her mouth and chimed, "Kick some ass!" He couldn't help but chuckle softly to himself, his torso quaking with silent laughter as he nudged the metal doors open and revealed himself to the Gamemakers.

An assortment of irked Avoxes had reequipped the room with dummies, but Hyre disposed of them quickly and efficiently with just a single toss of a wooden spear, its sharpened point piercing the canvas material of several human-shaped targets as it whipped through their abdomens.

Onyx knew that her district partner was certainly strong enough to put his judges in awe—she had touched the muscles cording his arms and found that they were as hard as steel—but she couldn't help but feel her throat tighten with anxiety as her name rippled through the speakers. "Onyx Marshal, District 2 female."

She found that Hyre's face frisked behind her eyelids every time she blinked, and she regarded it with a stubborn, irritated attitude as she coolly pushed her way through the metal doors and immediately dove into her usual routine—flips and twists in the air, her body contorting in ways that could be deemed unnatural, and a variety of deadly acts with the assortment of weapons around her.

By the time she was standing composedly in the center of the room, an array of ripped dummy material and thoroughly ruined targets at her feet, Hyre's image was still persistently plastered in her mind's eye.

* * *

><p><em>Dammit, dammit, dammit.<em>

Jules looked sternly down at her small white hands before knotting her fingers into fists, the ends of her short brown hair brushing against her cheek bones. _Dammit._

She knew that she didn't need a high score in order to be successful in the games, but that still didn't make that she didn't have anything planned for her private training session any less...

_Shitty fuck-tastic goddamned shit._

"Mack Tully, District 3 male."

Her chin twitched upward as she eyed her district partner, his brown hair tousled against the panes and angles of his face and his eyebrows determinedly crinkled together as he made his way toward the metal doors at the far side of the room. She knew how he excelled at strange, uncommon things—fashioning traps out of the flimsiest of material and focusing in dire situations, and she could imagine his private training session perfectly: Mack stepping into the room, his expression faltering just the slightest as he felt the weight of the Gamemakers' hard gazes on his skin, and his sudden wave of determination as he quickly made his way over to the knot-tying station and twirled his fingers in the depths of the rope, his movements almost invisibly fast as he whipped the rough cables into painstakingly detailed traps.

Jules, however, was skilled in the little, meticulous things—looking at possible conflicts from every possible angle, squinting her eyes until she could see a string of light in what others would deem as complete darkness, making something out of nothing...

And, of course, she could latch onto any surface and climb it like a frantic squirrel, her hands slapping against any possible fissure and her legs kicking wildly until she rapidly ascended.

But how could she work that into an impressive, intimidating performance?

"Jules Surket, District 3 female."

_...Daaammit._

She carefully stood herself up, straightening her shirt across her torso before taking attentive steps toward the looming metal doors at the far side of the room. She felt her feet slip, and she ended up stumbling into the doorway and bursting into the Gamemakers' view with booming curse words spilling out of her mouth.

The Gamemakers peered at her with hard, skeptical eyes, and Jules responded by promptly clearing her throat and setting her small chin.

_...All right, climbing it is_, she thought stubbornly before leaping across the room and clinging onto a wall, her limbs jerking to her sides as she flew across every possible surface until a thin sheen of sweat coated the back of her neck and made her short, kinked hair frizz at the ends.

Jules knew that she was taking a risk as she pushed herself off of the cold concrete surface of the wall, her body plunging toward the ground with stunning speed, and could only regard it as a blessing once she had successfully landed on her knees and elbows and rolled skillfully to muffle most of the fall, striking a finishing pose with her feet powerfully planted and her full mouth perked into a slight grin.

* * *

><p>"You're not supposed to be down here, Alex."<p>

Elia looked mischievously up at her husband, her head lowered and her sea green eyes shining upward through her dark eyelashes. She tangled the graceful curves of her hand into his shirt collar before pulling him closer, a smile capering on her pink lips.

Alex beamed back down at her, the lights glancing off the angles of his cheekbones. "What was I supposed to do, then? Stay put on the District 4 floor while my wife wowed the Gamemakers?" He bent downward, his rough lips tenderly brushing against Elia's hairline. "Not a chance, beautiful."

Moss peered at them from across the room, the lean curve of his back leaning lazily against his chair and the sleeves of his training shirt rolled up until the hems of them just touched the firm arches of his shoulders, revealing slender biceps sliding under his pale skin. His shaggy chestnut hair spilled down his forehead in tousled streaks, and he reached exasperatedly upward to rake it out of his eyes.

As he eyed Elia's wiry fingers as they absently toyed with her wedding ring, he felt a pang in his chest, not being able to restrain himself from thinking back to his family in District 4—how their lack of food had gotten to the point where their ribs could be seen clearly through the material of their shirts and how the winnings from this year's games would be the only thing keeping them from imminent starvation.

Moss couldn't help but feel a tinge of jealousy for the couple in front of him—their young love and careless joy—and how the universal anxieties in the tributes around him seemed to revolve around just simply _surviving_. He, on the other hand, had to carry the crushing weight of those problems while constantly having the claws of the plaguing possibility of his entire family perishing tearing at his thoughts.

"Moss Dorian, District 4 male."

His pale green eyes flickered upward as his name rasped through the speakers, grazing off the corners of the room and prodding his eardrums. With an elongated sigh, he stood himself up, his spine aching as he idly made his way toward the pair of massive metal doors.

Moss had planned out his performance, and he refused to let anything interrupt his thought process and he elbowed his way into the room and promptly made his way to the knot tying station, knowing exactly where metal wires were hidden and watching with slight smugness as the Gamemakers' eyebrows rose at his hands skillfully weaving them into sharp fishing hooks, meticulous knots and curves in the wire making them both sturdy and functional.

He proceeded to tow a sword out of its rack, knowing that that wouldn't be expected of him, and as its blade made a harsh tearing noise against its sheath, he whipped it through the air with a vicious scissoring motion and swiped the head clean off of a dummy.

Elia knew that her district partner was formidable and even slightly daunting, and as she gently laid her head against the warmth of her husband's chest and let her slender arms twine around his neck, the thought of Moss' performance being impossible to follow clawed at the back of her mind.

One of Alex's warm fingers traveled to Elia's collarbone, softly grazing her skin and rising until it rested at the bottom of her chin and swiftly twitching upward until her head rose, her soft irises locked onto his rugged features.

Alex's lips parted, as if he was readying himself to say something, only to be cut off by the speakers sputtering to life around him.

"Elia Zervakos, District 4 female."

Alex's torso seemed to deflate as he exhaled sharply, the corner of his mouth quirking. "Good luck, love."

"Don't need it," Elia sneered playfully, rising herself up on her toes before pecking her husband on his lower lip. She turned, immediately feeling a chill trickle through her bones the moment she broke away from his hold.

Her long curls of deep scarlet hair dribbled over her shoulders as she tentatively planted her feet in front of the metal doors and prodded them open, her stance confident and the lines of her face slack with composure. She paused only to give the Gamemakers studying her a quick nod of regard before gravitating toward the trident suspended at the far side of the room, the light above her capering off the weapon's three metal prongs.

Elia reached upward, gripping the trident's rubber handle and briskly twirling it in the air above her, letting its metallic surface just barely skim across the tips of her fingers before she leaped upward and skillfully grabbed it out of the air, leaping forward and flinging it at a nearby target. It slammed against the bullseye with staggering force, its expansive shaft trembling from the sudden halt.

Refusing to let a pause interrupt the flow of her performance, Elia proceeded to sling her arms backward and grip several throwing knives between her slender fingers, tossing each of them with blinding speed and making the weapons gather in the center of the target until the blades were cramped and congested.

A Gamemaker let out a slight snigger, causing Elia to curiously wrench her gaze upon him.

"Exactly what I would expect from a past victor's wife," he said, leaning back in his chair putting the rim of his wine glass to his lips.

* * *

><p>Roy had been bent over a sink for what felt like hours, the steady stream of water hissing into his mouth as he gagged into the drain. He couldn't seem to be able to wash the putrid, acidic taste of gasoline from his tongue, and the back of his eyes stung as his chest heaved with disgust from it.<p>

"Are you okay?" Skye trilled from behind him, her small frame leaned against a bare wall and her white hands knotted in front of her chest. Creon had sent her to help Roy after she had gotten back from her private training session, and her presence only succeeded in making Roy's cheeks burn and his throat tighten until he felt even more sick.

"Just peachy," Roy muttered, wearily turning off the sink and wiping his mouth on his shirt sleeve. His tongue still burned, but he figured that he would eventually get used to it, just like how he had gotten used to the searing, prickling sensation that constantly trickled through the scar tissue helixing around his forearms.

Skye's ice blue eyes squinted with confusion. "Peachy...? You're not a peach—"

"I mean," Roy started, forgetting how his district partner would take every sentence thrown at her literally, "that I'm absolutely fine. Thanks for asking."

Skye frowned, lowering her head and peering upward, making it apparent how her thick eyelashes had clumped together, like the tips of stars. "You don't seem fine." Her shoulders rose with what seemed like slight discomfort. "Every time I talk to you, you look like you're in pain. Like you're stopping yourself from saying something that you really want to say."

Roy swallowed hard, his Adam's apple sliding down the smooth skin of his throat before he casted his amber gaze to his feet. He couldn't help but notice how his hands had begun to tremble and how he had to lean against the sink behind him in order to keep his stance upright.

_"L'esprit d'escalier," _he whispered, barely audible, and after he had stolen a tentative glance at Skye's confused expression, he explained, "It's a French saying used to describe the feeling you get after leaving a conversation. When you think of all the things you should have said."

Skye's pale azure eyes widened with awe, and Roy couldn't help but let the slightest of smiles caper on his mouth. "Granted, of course, that it literally means 'the spirit of the staircase' in English." He flashed her a timid grin. "Guess that kind of makes it lose its magic."

"I think it's still a lovely saying," Skye immediately chimed, her eyebrows rising and her yellow hair spilling forward, "like _peachy._ I enjoy the sound of it."

Roy couldn't help but let a breathy chuckle escape from his lips, the sound velvety and throaty. It gradually subsided, and he was left eyeing the floor with stiffness strung through his limbs, his eyes hard and cold. "Skye, listen..." He started, his voice suddenly raspy. "...I don't like the way our mentor looks at you."

One of Skye's eyebrows arched quizzically. "You mean Matt?"

"Yeah." The bridge of Roy's nose crinkled, the taste of gasoline in his mouth suddenly unbearably nauseating. "It's like...It's like he wants to eat you up, or something."

Skye's eyebrows furrowed, and the blue ice of her eyes suddenly frosted over until it was cutting and deathly. "He's _nice_ though," she stressed, her glare potent enough to make Roy's shoulders slump with exhaustion, "Nicer than you."

Her words were like a blade to Roy's chest, and he found himself sucking in a breath that seared his airways, as if he had just taken a massive blow to the stomach. She turned on her heel and began to stalk fiercely away, her pulse fluttering wildly in her ribcage with anger.

"S-Skye, wait!" Roy choked out involuntarily, his golden eyes flashing with desperation. When she halted, her small torso trembling with regret and her neck craning to peer at him, he slowly shut his eyes and took a deep breath in an effort to compose himself. _"...Vous êtes très belle." _His voice was just barely above a whisper, hardly audible.

Skye huffed exasperatedly. "What does that mean?"

Roy hesitated. "...It means that you should hurry and get out of here. You have better things to do than talk to me."

Skye's eyebrows furrowed, but she promptly obeyed, turning on her heel and stepping out of the room. Her blonde ringlets swished in front of her shoulder blades, and Roy couldn't help but stare as she steadily walked out of his sight.


	27. Private Training Sessions Part Two

**A/N: **No... no... *groaning sound*... that's it. I retire from striking. I can't take the strain, not when it's the best chapter... *wink wink*. Ahhh... why? Why? WHY? Anyway, now I can tell you all about this fabulous chapter. When I read it I laughed, cringed and smiled at the appropriate moments throughout the whole thing... and exactly the same happened when I wrote it! xD Nah, honestly now, I don't actually think Maia's all that great, I just love hamming everything up. Unfortunately you don't think Maia's all that great either... with the POLL! It's probably because you thought it was which tributes you thought should survive the bloodbath, not die, so you all lunged in and automatically voted for Maia, but still... *sniffles*. Ah well, I actually think it's because I wrote her. in fact, I know it's because I wrote her. And you don't like me. So I shall now use reverse psycology to make you love her... Maia is horrible. Maia should die. She's nothing special. A completly rubbish tribute. You should all vote for her to die. Slowly. Painfully. She's pathetic. This chapter is rubbish. As is the author of this chapter. Yes, the abysmal... SneverusSnapers (D8 Female). Kill them both! ... that work? You starting to like her more? *puppy dog eyes*

* * *

><p><strong>Private Training Sessions Part Two (D5 - D8) - Maia Spring by SneversSnapers (District Eight)<strong>

* * *

><p><em>"What lies behind us and what lies before us are small matters compared to what lies within us" ~Ralph Waldo Emerson<em>

* * *

><p>I know my private training session will start soon, but I can't go there yet. I was planning on getting there early and being one of the first few tributes, but it seems that just isn't the case due to what, or rather who, I find standing in front of me. Those deep hazel eyes, that cheeky dazzling grin, those sheet white pale arms, that wild frizzy auburn hair which can never be tamed by any hairbrush. It has to be...<p>

"Cindy!" I squeak, flinging my arms around my best friend, "what are you doing here?"

"Saying good luck to you, stupid," chokes Cindy with a muffled voice through the insulation of my body wrapping itself around her in a friendly embrace. She finally manages to push me away and holds me at arm's length, as if examining me from afar. Eventually a slightly teasing grin moulds onto her face. "You've gotten fat."

"No I haven't!" I squeal in surprise and Cindy chuckles, shaking her head and the mane of hair that goes with it, and then brings me back into a tight hug, the fiery warmth of her body consoling me for her joke. We stay like that for quite a while, time just being ignored as our arms are wrapped around each other's. I've always thought that you can't hold a hug longer than five seconds or it gets really awkward, but I find that at least twenty seconds must have gone by and still the hug doesn't even feel slightly awkward. It's the same warm embrace that used to comfort me at my first nights away from home, only this time I can just appreciate it more. Something inside of me notes her choice of words 'good luck'. Not 'goodbye'. As if she thinks we could stand a chance…

"Well look at that!" An all too familiar aging male voice booms across the space and I swivel around in surprise, breaking my embrace with Cindy, to come face to face with the man who roped me into the Capitol circus act itself. Sweaty palms, darting piggy eyes with a serious incentive of money, an unkempt moustache that looks like a mix between an unclipped garden hedge and one of those fake joke shop moustaches you stick on with glue. The type you can get from the backstreets of the Capitol. Then there's that all too familiar flustered red face which looks like a cross between a rotting onion and a mutated anchovy. Sydney Wilfred Amadeus Goring, my boss. Or rather, my ex-boss, seeing as I'm either about to die or get so rich I won't ever need a job again. Figures he'd turn up, what with the die-hard incentive of serious cash wavering around in the air. No pun intended.

"Swag's still kicking around," murmurs Cindy into my ear, causing me to let out a slight nervous laugh. It's an in-joke of ours. We found out when he was signing a form of some sort, probably signing us up for another horrendous Capitol party, that his initials 'Sydney Wilfred Amadeus Goring' are S.W.A.G. Swag. Cindy and I noticed it at the same time and just managed to suppress fits of laughter, but we still find it funny whenever another one of us mentions it. Strangely enough, when Cindy told the others none of them found it even slightly amusing, but sometimes Cindy has that effect on people. She's actually quite scary if you're not her friend, she's really protective if you are though and always sticks up for you. In fact, she's the kind of friend you want on your side in a fight. Not that I ever get into fights anyway, but that's all about to change the moment I step into the arena. Because then it's simple – fight or die. And I have absolutely no intention of dying.

"Hello sir," I say, bowing my head politely on an automatic reflex. Swag's puckered red lips slowly pull back to reveal stained yellow teeth, rotting and abandoned, forced into a smile that looks more like a grimace directed at me.

"Hello Maia," he says, that grin sickly spread across his face, suddenly shuffling a lot closer to me than I feel comfortable with. As he pushes Cindy carelessly aside, she mouths "run for it" at me, and I nod, accepting her words of advice with an internal bemused smile.

"Err... sorry sir, but I have a private training session to attend to," I murmur, shuffling away from him.

"It will barely take a minute," says Swag, advancing on me menacingly, obviously with the intent of somehow swindling me out of money if I do somehow win so if I were to come out of the arena it would probably end up penniless.

"Sorry, but I really have to go," I say and break away from his glare, staggering backwards down the corridor as quickly as I can, getting away from him as soon as possible.

"Good luck Maia!" calls Cindy and with an accepting and rather nervous smile I dash off down the corridor before Swag can catch up with me, darting into a side passage which doubles up as a shortcut to the waiting area for the private training sessions and dash off, hoping I won't get there too late and subsequently have my score cut down. Can they even do that? I don't know, and honestly, I don't want to have to find out.

When I get there the tomboy female tribute from five is just going in. Her face is filled with anxiety and she looks rather flustered, but I can see the same glint of determination that fills my heart whenever I'm about to do something. Somehow I know she's got some sort of plan. Then with a slam of the door she goes in, the look of defiance in her eye blocked out as the shiny metal door obscures her from view. I glance around, noting that her district partner must have already gone in, and see the remaining tributes.

The boy from six doesn't even look fazed by all of this, munching on something as if his life depends on it. And believe me, by his size he doesn't. The girl looks remarkably like Cindy, only with deep brown hair, and stares at her district partner with a bemused expression on her face, but I pick up a hint of anxiety too. She's just trying not to show it. The pair from seven are nervously chatting, muttering the odd phrase such as "so what do you think you're going to do?" and "I'll just try my hardest I suppose." And even a murmur of "my pen is my sword" that I manage to pick up when I strain my ears, which causes the girl who said it's district partner to chuckle slightly, and I find both of their cheeks flushing an awkward red. Then there's Oak right next to me, his face scrunched up with what looks like a mix of impatience jumbled with nerves. I suppose he just wants to get this over with as soon as possible, and saying I didn't agree with him would be a lie.

"How do you think you're going to do?" I murmur, only for Oak to reply with a rather nervous "I don't know." He's evidently more scared than he wants to let out, he doesn't usually act like this. Especially since he suggested to ally with me. I mean, ally… with me? It's a wild thought to think about. Mulling over Oak's reaction, I turn my thoughts onto what I'm going to do. What can I do? I suppose I could run through my normal gymnastics routine, but what will that do for me? Then I suppose stealing a little move or two from the pole dancers is possible, but I'm not planning to go for the sexy theme at all, even if I could pull something like that off. Quite the contrary, I want to seem more innocent and kind than playful and desirable. The static from some hidden speakers crackle out, disrupting me from my thoughts, and I hear a tribute being called.

"Relk Stein, District six male," the speaker calls in a robotic voice and the chubby boy steps up evidently annoyed, half way through munching on a fistful of candy. He bobs his head slightly in a nod as if the Gamemakers were watching him and storms into the room, huffily slamming the door behind him, the candy still clasped in his hand.

I find my fingers drumming absent-mindedly on the armrests of my chair as I desperately wait for some sort of new of acceptance, a calling that it is indeed my turn to be sucked into the unknown abyss that is the private training session. What can I do when I'm in there though? I suppose I could always use _that _routine. But last time I used that I almost broke my arm, and if I was to do that this close to the games, well, it would all be over before it has even began. I know it's the Hunger Games, and you can't win by playing it safe and risks are all part of the bargain, but it's not the kind of risk I want to take at this stage in the games. Yet the Hunger Games are all about risks... I suppose I'll have to see how they've set the room up, if it's got what I want then I'll do it. I wouldn't put it past the Capitol to change the ceiling. If they don't have what I need... then I suppose I'll just have to try something else. What though, I have no idea.

I can feel the strain of the clock ticking away as if it were my very life force slowly draining beat by beat, the knocking sound drumming into my ears, highlighting the rather timidly showing impatient side of me. But I stay still, and I do my best to stay calm and alert. All so I can do what I need to do when the time comes, all so I can try and win this thing. Yet the clock still ticks on. _Tick-tock. _The girl from six shakily enters the room as her name is called out. I knew she was nervous. _Tick-tock, tick-tock. _The boy from seven enters, flinching slightly as his name is called out over the loudspeaker. _Tick-tock, tick-tock, tick-tock. _It's the girl from seven's turn now, clutching onto a notepad with her spare hands the other twists the door knob. _Tick-tock, tick-tock, tick-tock, tick-tock. _Oak stands up, and he gives what I think is meant to be a reassuring grin, but could be taken any way, and he enters into the room, with barely a glance behind him. _Tick-tock, tick-tock, tick-tock, tick-tock, tick-tock._

"Maia Spring, district eight female."

I leap to my feet immediately, jerking myself out of the daze I seem to have put myself into. On the first step towards the overpowering door looming over me, I find my hands sketchily tracing my outfit of plain black, what the Capitol people call cycling shorts and a rather clingy silver top that I would have called a leotard if it didn't stop the moment it touches the shorts. As I put my second step forward towards the door my hands then anxiously flurry up to my hair, cramming a stray strand into my bun before the Gamemakers see it. Not that they can see through solid walls or anything. On the third step, as my whole body wavers outside the door, I calmly let my left hand to drop to my side as I stand calm and composed, my breathing back to normal again as I often do before a performance, and I slowly bring my right hand to rest onto the chillingly cool metal knob of the door, twisting it to the side in a simple flick of my wrist, then allowing the strength of my hand to push the door inwards. Calculating every breath I make, I calmly step inside the now open door with two precise steps, my figure upright as I can make it, release my right hand from the door, letting it swing back into place, and examine my surroundings.

I'm in a simple room with brushed concrete walls and a floor which I immediately recognise underfoot as, though it appears to be normal, extremely good at holding an impact of a fall. I know it because we've used it often for our more dangerous acts of gymnastic ability. Swag claimed it was because he didn't want us to get hurt, but the real reason he would use it sometimes is that we're skilled and it's a bother replacing us. The floor is easily recognisable, so if I was to fall from half the height of the room then I would escape unscathed, maybe with a slight ache as the hidden springs and pulleys underground save most of my body from any damage. It's a shame I'm planning on going higher then. It seems not even the Gamemakers want us to be hurt before the games. But even the floor isn't the main feature that grabs my attention; I find my eyes swivelling upwards past the blinking lights hanging down in rows to face the ceiling. I noticed it when I was in training, though I doubt many other people did, the ceiling here is constructed of wooden beams. Well, I used to doubt they were real wood and thought they were more likely to be metal or plastic coated in some synthetic material to give off the appearance of wood. To stop from decay and the like, but I soon realised otherwise. I've seen it in quite a few Capitol buildings actually, after I overheard a drunk architect at a party whining about the new craze for wooden beams on the ceilings in the Capitol and how they'd only allow real wood, not the fake stuff so it was a nightmare to preserve. Of all places though, I hadn't expected to see them here.

The reason I take notice of them so much is because the last time I performed in a place which had a beaming structure I had to do the grand finale finish that Swag had dictated, yes _that _routine. I hadn't been keen on it at all, but Swag had insisted that it was too good a chance to throw away, so with a huff I reluctantly set the routine into motion. It was all going well, until it reached the final climax when I swung onto the beam and a cracking sound echoed around the room, the sound of breaking wood, and the beam I had just swung onto snapped and I came tumbling down to the floor with splinters of wood flying around me. Needless to say, the Capitol partiers were less than impressed. And guess who had to fit the bill for the beam repairs – yes, Swag. And he was less than pleased about it, I can tell you. But there were two key things I learnt about the Capitol beams then – firstly, they weren't necessary to hold up the structure of the building, and only decoration. Secondly, they really were made out of wood like the drunk architect had said.

And I take all of this in within a matter of seconds and a simple blink of a Gamemaker's eye. I compose myself and steadily walk up to the table to the left of the door where a rather rowdy mob of Gamemakers are playfully drinking, chatting, joking, gorging themselves on food and doing anything but looking at me. Ignoring this fact, I let my eyes spread around the room to the station where the fire building apparatus is held and a slightly smug smile slithers smoothly across my face. This is the plan that's been simmering in the back of my mind for quite a while now. I really wasn't expecting it to turn out like this though, under all this pressure. I just imagined it as a silly little idea that would never come out from its place stuck in the back of my mind. But in this game you play all your cards.

"Good afternoon gentlemen," I say, bowing my head to the Gamemakers as I start with my traditional entertaining routine that I show everyone. The floor means I shouldn't have much to fear, well, until I start doing _that _part of the routine. Immediately they all seem to perk up and stare at me, well, the ones who aren't busy gawping at the rather sexy looking Avox girl who has just come in with a platter of dips. Naturally it's the platter of dips they're staring at. Ignoring their reactions, I press on into my routine.

First I start by slipping into a simple handstand, not very impressive I know, but it's where my act begins. Then the party really gets started. By tensing my arm muscles I manage to do something that gives off the appearance of jumping, only I'm upside-down. It really kills my arm muscles, but it looks really impressive. Then, on the third 'jump' I twist my body around mid-air so I land on my feet. Not wasting a second, the moment I get up on my two feet I let my body rock backwards, and just before I fall as if I has doing a backwards roll, I stretch my arms out to catch me and press down on the ground so I get pushed upwards again in a handstand position, only this time I'm facing away from the Gamemakers. At the moment all I'm doing is my usual show tricks like a performing monkey, I'm totally used to it and they're all for show, not the type that would help me in real life.

I'm nearing a hanging blue training dummy that gives off the appearance a punching bag that the weightlifters in out troupe use to train with when they're not hefting up heavy objects such as tables filled with food or just me and a few friends. My feet facing it, I fall forwards into it, the air gushing past my cheeks and in just the last minute I hook my legs around the dummy itself, saving me from collapsing face first into the floor. I'm still upside-down and I can feel the draining feeling of the blood running to my head, but I ignore it and straddle the dummy, pulling myself up using only my legs edging up the slippery surface as hard as I can. If Swag ever taught me anything it's that you fit your performance to the objects around you. And that's exactly what I'm doing and what I'm showing, so they know I'm adaptable. My legs start to slip and I almost grab the dummy shakily with a hand to steady myself, but I stop at just the last moment and readjust the grip my legs have on the dummy, hauling myself up until I get to the shoulders of the dummy. This is the hard bit, where I use all of my stomach muscles that I've worked up all my life and all of this training in secret, creeping down to the training area when everyone's gone to sleep to try it out, really pays off. Still upside-down, I let my legs slip into the shoulders of the dummy and slowly heave my body up until I sit upright, the burning in my stomach a pain I have to handle.

I elegantly leap off the dummy, using a cartwheel at the end to supposedly help impact my fall, though I doubt I'd feel any pain falling from that height, especially with these floors. For the first time since I began I look up at the Gamemakers, and am pleased to see that all of them, with an exception of a rather porky chap who's tucking into a whole trifle with his bare hands, are staring at me either dumbfounded, expectantly or patiently. I can tell they're waiting for more. Well then, if my normal routine won't cut it I suppose it's time I play all of my cards. I just hope they're ready for it, because what they're about to see is definitely something they don't see every day...

Backing towards the fire lighting section by using a succession of backwards cartwheels, jumps and rather impressive karate-style kicks that Cindy taught me, I reach out a hand and quickly stuff a box of matches and a tiny canister of some sort of flammable liquid into my palm, then sneakily reach up into the air as if I was stretching and then as my hand is as high as I can get it I chuck the canister and box of matches up in the air while all of the Gamemakers lunge and the platter of dips as the Avox girl sets them down. I just manage to glance up and to my relief my aim was right on and both the box of matches and the tiny canister of flammable liquid are resting on the beam above of me, near the back of the room away from the Gamemakers. A tiny smile spreads across my face, but I soon wipe it off as I realise I've barely started the main act itself.

I weave my way around apparatus after apparatus with a single successive cartwheel until I finally get to the climbing wall right in front of the Gamemaker's deluxe spread of food. Knowing that if I fall so do my points, I hoist myself up using the cracks in-between the tiles that makes up the climbing wall, only touching the custom made grips that are there for you to climb the wall with once, when I'm about to topple down. But I don't think the Gamemakers notice that, or if they do they certainly don't show it. I reach the top of the climbing wall and heave myself up onto it, steadying my shaking limbs by letting my hands stretch out either side of me, balancing me. I find myself anxiously looking around to my left and my right, but I ensure I don't look down. I know for a fact that's the worst thing you can do. Instead of looking back I should be looking where I want to go from here – where I want to go. My eyes sweep upwards to the wooden beam directly above me, and then to the matches and tiny canister of flammable substance all the way on the opposite beam. Well whoops, maybe that wasn't the best idea. I should have chucked it on this beam. But I also know very well that if I had done that the Gamemakers would have seen it, and then the surprise would have been ruined. Ah well, I've come this far I might as well do the next part – the leap of hope.

With a slight gritting of my teeth, I bend my legs to get some spring into my jump and then leap as high as I can up into the air. I can feel the collective gasps of the Gamemakers brushing past my face as my two hands grab onto the wooden beam, grappling onto it as I fly up through the air. It's a one shot – if I don't get it now I won't get it ever, and it will all be over. My eyes close and I find myself submerged in black, anxiety running through my body. How did I do? Did I do it? Ever so slowly, my left eye flitters open followed immediately by my right. A scream of pain shoots through my arms and my eyes open to see that I'm swinging by my arms off the wooden so-called supporting beam. Not even letting myself let out a little sigh of relief, I swing my legs forward, using my arms to pull them up until they grip the beam so I'm hanging off the rafter upside-down by my four limbs gripping onto it, as if I'm hugging it as if my life is depending on it. And it is. If I fall and hurt myself the injury will stay way into the games, and if that happens I'm dead. No question about it.

Ignoring the wincing pain that the splinters from the wood digging in my arms tell me, confirming the fact that this is indeed real wood that the ceiling girder is made of. Imagining I'm twisting the wood around instead of me twisting around the wood, I press myself to it and slither around it slowly until I find myself looking face down at the Gamemakers below me. Everything would be fine, if only I hadn't tossed the matches and flammable liquid canister on a beam on the other side of the room. Making sure frustration doesn't get the better of me, I slowly rise to my feet on the beam, getting used to the material and the thickness of the size. It's obvious that I need to get the matches and the canister I placed over there earlier, but I can't go down now, climb the other one, grab that and come back up here, that would just look stupid and be a waste of my time. I only need to show what I can do off once and they'll believe I can replicate it a thousand times in rapid succession, but doing it three times makes it seem I have nothing else I can do and that's my limit. I have to keep them on their toes, convince them the sky's my limit! The only problem is that most of my stunts are group stunts I work out with other gymnasts, but there's no-one else here. This really is the toughest audience I have ever had to perform for. Ah well, I've always loved a challenge.

If I can't go under the beams then there's only one route I can take– across them. I look at the rafter in front of me. It's only just over a metre to jump, I can do it. The only problem is landing –it doesn't matter if I go too far or too short, either way I could fall to my soon to be death. Well, there's nothing else I can do. I'm just going to have to do it. Steadying my nerves, I propel myself forward into the air, jumping before my brain can fully recognise what I'm doing. My two feet land on the next beam and I crouch down onto it using the palms of my hands onto the rafter to steady myself. That was a perfect landing, I only have to replicate that about five more times and I'm safe. But five more times seems a lot scarier when I've just done that. Sucking in my breath again, and ignoring the wobbling feeling in my stomach, I go against my better instincts and leap onto the next beam. This time I don't even need to use my hands to steady myself, and I land on the next one with ease too. Taking a sharp breath inwards to try and smother my nerves, I push off the beam and launch into the air towards the next one, and land with my two feet squarely on the beam. I'm getting used to this. And just one more beam to go, and then I'll be right next to the one with the matches and the canister. Anxiously I jump forward to the next beam, just avoiding teetering at the edge as I undershoot the jump a bit. Well I'll have to put more power into the next one. The thought that I could have got new matches and a new canister flashes across my mind, but it's too late now. The best thing I can do is press on.

Nervously, I bend my legs and propel myself into the air. As soon as my feet have sprung up though, I know something's wrong. I'm coming at the next beam much too fast, I'm going to overshoot. Defying all of my automatic instincts to curl up in a little ball and accept the crash to the ground with grace, I stick out an arm and grab onto the wooden beam, using all my grip to make my hand stay there. As I come flying past I dig my fingers into as many nooks and crannies as I can and hold on. For my life. The pain is excruciating as my arm wrenches me this way while my propelling force tugs me another, but I stay stiffly still as I scramble with the other arm to get a grip on the beam too and my whole body comes slamming into the wooden beam, bashing all the air out of me viciously.

A bruised and battered version of me manages to heft themselves up onto the wooden beam and I grab the matches and the canister when the Gamemakers aren't looking and stuff them down the back of my shorts. Not the most glamorous place to put them, but it works. I just hope the matches don't set me on fire or things could go really bad really quickly. Shakily, just managing to suppress a groan from straining itself out of my battered mouth, I pull myself to my feet. Now all I have to do is make it back to where I started with the matches in one piece. And as if that wasn't bad enough the Gamemakers are looking pretty bored right now and coming back the same way I came across could decrease my scores. But I still have to end up on that beam above them for my plan to work, and I can't exactly go down and walk, that'll just look stupid. And anyway, I don't see me getting down easily anyway. Maybe the route I take to get there's not the problem, it's the manner in which I get there through the route. Clearly jumping from beam to beam isn't enough. Say if I was to do it on my hands... no! No way do I have the skill or the courage to do that. I'll just have to do it some other way. But the longer I take standing here thinking about it the worse it gets... say if I was to do something to buy me some more time...

Then I spot the bunch of twisted metal wires rolled into one rather sturdy support wire running from this beam to the beam right at the end of the room. Well, they'll never be expecting _that_. I'm primarily an acrobat, but when Cindy's sick or unable to perform for some reason, I might help her out and take her job over for a night or two, and I'm not half bad at it either. Yes, you know what I'm talking about – tightrope walking. A sly smile creeps onto my face. It's not like I've never done it without safety nets before, and that wire is almost exactly like the tightrope wire. It's almost like the fates want me to do it, are daring me, egging me on. So with a calm and collected smile I shuffle along the splintered beam, waving my hands around in weird swirly patterns which a ballet dancer once told me you should always do to take people's attention off your feet. And it seems to be working, they're too busy captivated by my dazzling smile I'm flashing their way and my hands twisting and turning that they don't notice my feet awkwardly shuffling along. Every move I make I feel the score ticking up – one, two, three, four, five, six, seven, eight, nine, ten, eleven, twelve. I'm going to rock this house! And, just as Cindy first showed me, her original words echoing around my head, I step onto the thin wire and start walking.

_It's just like walking along the curb of a pavement Maia, just with the light it looks a lot thinner than it actually is. Don't worry, I'll be there to catch you if you fall. _Only this time if I fall Cindy won't be there to catch me. Shaking my head slightly and making sure I keep myself balanced, I press my next step forward and tip-toe across the wire, my thoughts still fixated on the shining twelve that I should be getting, beaming down on me. Step by step I walk across the wire, my two arms outstretched as I cross it. I consider doing some of my more fancy show moves, one legged, perhaps even a handstand. But some voice inside me growls _don't push your luck Maia _so I don't and I keep on going like normal, as if nothing ever happened.

I step off the wire and onto the beam as if I were just walking down a corridor, barely a flinch in my facial expression. Using my left hand to distract the Gamemakers with a fancy wave, and with luck on my side as another platter of dips gets brought in, I stuff my right hand down the back of my tight fitting lycra cycling shorts and pull out the box of matches and the canister of flammable liquid. Surveying the table below me, a dazzling performing smile never ceasing to appear on my face, I spot a huge untouched sponge that seems to be towering over the rest of the foods, the creamily rich yet delicate pink icing decorated with dainty little flowers –perfect. That's just the kind of thing I want to set fire to.

With another fancy and dramatic wave of my left hand as if I were doing something important, not distracting them, I pour the liquid with my left hand, watching it prepare the cake for what is to come. Deciding to add a little twist and knowing that waving my hands isn't going to distract the Gamemakers for much longer, I pull out the box of matches openly for all of the Gamemakers to see. A collected gasp of 'ooh' ripples across them, as if I just made it appear out of thin air, not having just stuffed it down my shorts. I strike a match, consider fire eating as the flame starts to fizzle into existence, remember the fate of one fellow performer as he tried it and decide to give it a pass. I hold the match up, wave it energetically around the air as I stand on the beam, then excitedly, at the peak of my wave, drop the match and follow it slowly as if flitters down through the air, a little fairy dancing through the night's sky.

I don't know what I was expecting when the match hit the cake, but I certainly wasn't expecting that. _Boom! _A huge fireball explodes right in front of the Gamemakers as the cake gets engulfed in flames. I feel a burning sensation ride through me and wince at the gnawing pain until it disappears. Momentarily I'm worried about the beam, and whether it will survive the fire seeing as it's made of wood. Then realising I'm really quite far away from the explosion itself, that really wasn't that huge, I look down and find out what I should be really worried about. A rather fit Gamemaker with a curly blonde mop is screaming in panic. Or rather, he _had _a curly blonde mop on his head. At the moment all I can see is flames crackling on his head and sniff the distinct smell of burning hair. One of the less clever Gamemakers decides they'll put the fire out by throwing his drink on the other's head. That would have been an excellent idea if, of course, the fellow Gamemaker's drink had been water. But no, it must have been some sort of alcoholic beverage because the next thing I see the flames on this Gamemaker's head grow to twice the size of before. Luckily one Gamemaker must have at least one brain cell because somehow another drink gets poured on his head that instead douses the flames. Then, once the calamity of the fiery headed Gamemaker is over, all the eyes swivel back to me.

And here I am, standing on a wooden girder, having just set fire to a Gamemaker's hair, and all I can think of to say is "please may I leave now?" Not "I'm so sorry, I promise it will never happen again" or "Please don't kill me" or even "come on, you've got to see the funny side". All I can come out with is "please may I leave now". There's a stunned pause and all eyes swivel from me to the shocked face of the head Gamemaker sat in the middle of the table. There's an uncertain pause as no-one knows what to do, until he finally speaks up.

"Yes, you may. And Avox – fetch some air freshener to cover up the smell."

So, without knowing quite what I'm meant to be doing, I simply walk along the beam to the end just above the climbing wall, sit down and slide off until I'm standing at the top, climb down only using the easy wall part with the allocated grips and walk out of the room, still not quite letting what I've just done sink in.

I walk out of the training session, a stunned look fixated on my face, and take in the faces of the tributes around me. Oak seems to have collapsed onto a chair, drenched in sweat with a relived look plastered all over his face. The pair from seven are nowhere to be seen and have probably left already to discuss something or other.

The boy from five is nervously tugging at his sleeve, as if anxious about what he just did and wanting the training scores right away. And then there's me, standing dumbfound as I just exit the training room, the pungent odour of burning hair still thick in the air, the box of matches still stuck in my shorts. And what did I just do? I just set fire to a Gamemaker's hair. _I just set fire to a Gamemaker's hair!_

And oh boy did it feel good.


	28. Private Training Sessions Part Three

**A/N: **I'm slowly getting through these... only nine to go until the bloodbath. Including this one of course. Well, the final installment of the private training sesisons starts here. Now. So go and read. And yes, I'm expected to say something more. And no, I'm not going to... WELL FINE THEN! this chapter was written by... cottoncandychoctop (D10 Female). Now hurry up and read.

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><p><strong>Private Training Session Part 3 (D9 - D12) - Aleah Armani<strong>

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><p>'<em>When choosing between two evils, I always pick the one I've never tried before.'<em>

_-Mae West_

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><p>From the time that annoyingly bubbly little twig from eight makes her way into the gymnasium for her private training session, I get ridiculously bored. God she's taking a long time. Seriously, what could that little circus freak be doing that takes such an incredibly long time? A person can only take sitting here with these people for so long.<p>

I, of course, have taken up residence at the very back of the waiting room, so that I have a good spot to glare at everyone from behind, and luckily for me no one has been game enough to try and come near me. Thank god for that, you'd think that out of twenty three people there might have been one, just _one, _who could hold a half decent conversation, but nope, no such luck. And I, being the warm, loving, charismatic person that I am, had _of course_ tried my damndest to reach out to my fellow tributes and find a kindred spirit amongst them, but to no avail. What can I say; I just really have no intellectual competition here, they all cracked as easily as eggs on a concrete floor when I put the _tiniest_ bit of pressure on them.

Over the three training session's I had only really approached a couple of other people, because let's face it I'm not here to make friends, I am in fact here to kill all the other people around me. Those few I did approach I chose for a specific reason, to intimidate and scare the hell out of them. In all honesty they all reacted a similar way when I started launching insults at them, they blushed, they looked embarrassed, they walked away looking deflated without even trying to retaliate. Pathetic, I know. I had been considering taking on some careers just so I could get some kind of challenge but that would specifically go against my plan.

There had been a few highlights of the training days of course. I had mastered quite a few survival skills, building fires, what I could and couldn't eat in the wild, most likely places to find water, things that were actually useful rather than just showing off my muscles by tossing around giant objects, not naming anyone, 'cough, Boston, cough.' I hadn't really bothered myself with many weapons because in all honesty if it came down to the point where I was one on one with a career I was going to be pretty much screwed, weapon or no weapon. Like Sean had said I cannot rely on my physical strength because I don't have any. I did however spend quite a bit of time at the knife fighting station and I think it's fair enough to say I'm actually pretty damn good. I think as long as no one comes at me with, say, an axe, I should be able to hold my own. The other highlight was that fat little brat from district six, Relk I think his name was. I took one look at him and laughed, it was like someone had sent me my own little present by sending him here. I literally said three sentences to him and I had him on his knees, bawling his eyes out and banging his fists on the ground in a tantrum demanding him mummy. Ah, see, even the memory brings a smile to my face.

Then of course there was the district seven incident on day one of training, that one I'm quite proud of. I let my mind go back to that day, since I have nothing else better to do.

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><p>I had been, ever so politely of course, commenting on the district seven girl's fanatical need to document every single second of her life in that journal she carries with her wherever she goes and I may have possibly said she was bordering on obsessive compulsive. She of course did the usual, blush, avoid eye contact, try and think of something mildly intelligent to say in response and come up blank. It was actually her district partner that acted up.<p>

"Hey why don't you just back off?" he had said, rising as he did, probably to try and look domineering and powerful. It didn't work, the guy might have been older than me but he was a twig, there was no meat on him at all, not that I could really talk, but he looked kind of nervous about standing up to me. I mean really, if you're going to confront me do it with a bit of confidence for god's sake.

"Calm down logger-boy," I had said condescendingly, enjoying my little district seven pun, "I was merely asking your girlfriend about all the _fascinating _things she's been writing about."

Using the girl's attention on the boy to my advantage I had quickly snatched her journal out of her hands, much to her dismay, flipped it open and begun reading.

"I know it's terrible," I had tried my best to sound overly dramatic while reading, it's all about the dramatic effect, "but I'm kind of glad Aspen's here with me. Having him here is like having a piece of home. He reminds me so much of Ashe, I miss her so much already. And maybe, now that Aspen's my district partner, he might finally see me as more than his little sister's friend." I paused, looking away from the journal, "That's interesting; I thought your name was Araucaria."

I can still remember that look on his face, his eyes wide, his lips pursed tight together and at the same time anger starting to flare beneath his eyes. It didn't take me long to put two and two together.

"You're a twin right?" I had asked slyly, remembering re-watching the reapings, "Hmm, very interesting."

He quickly lunged at me, swinging his fist out towards me. I quickly dodged to the side and with all the momentum he had had trying to punch me he stumbled forwards a little. Since I actually liked my face and enjoyed having working facial muscles I had attacked from him behind, crouching down, swinging my leg out and knocking out his feet, sending him hurling down to the ground until he was just a pile of limbs on the floor.

"Don't worry," I had said as I tossed the journal back to the very shocked looking girl, "I'm one _hundred _percent trustworthy," sounding anything but trustworthy, "Your secret's safe with me."

I couldn't help myself, I couldn't just walk away and _not _know how my actions had affected them. I mean, I had just exposed Aspen's secret, discovered a hidden crush the girl had for him and then floored him. All in all, I'd done pretty damn well. I had snuck a glance back at the pair from seven and had seen the girl trying to help Aspen up. He had shaken her off, refusing to accept her help and had stormed off. Damn, he had looked pretty pissed; I guess getting busted probably wasn't a great thing for him. And what was even better about all of this is that now I had power over him. This was the kind of secret that was life or death for him and for his twin brother, if the Gamemakers found out shit would really hit the ceiling. And I knew. And he knew I knew, which meant that he knew that if he ever did anything against me I had the power to absolutely destroy him. Brilliant.

The one downside was that we had earnt ourselves an awful lot of attention for that, people take tributes attacking each other pretty seriously, and while I enjoyed having people wary of me it was not what I was planning. So after that I had been on my very best behaviour, only confronting people individually rather than on a large scale. But, despite how much I burned to, I hadn't told anyone about the district seven boy's secret. I might have thought he was in idiot for willingly entering into this, but I respected what he did. He sacrificed himself to save his brother, I would have done the same for Sean if I could have, so I decided not to rat him out. Still, flooring him had felt damn good.

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><p>I sigh at the memory: that was a good day. Much better than today anyway. Looking around at all the other people in the room with me, my boredom increasing due to that imbecile from eight's ability to take three times as long as everyone else, I decide it's time to stir the pot again. It isn't exactly hard to see that tensions are running pretty high around here and I imagine that if I, say, gave some 'constructive criticism' to a few of them they might just crack enough to stuff up their individual training sessions. Manipulative, who me? Well don't act so surprised you already knew that about me, I never claimed to be a saint. The only real question is, which one do I decide to prey on?<p>

The two from nine are sitting closest to me, whispering lightly to each other and every so often one of them turns around, sees me glaring at them and shrinks back in fear. The girl, crap, don't know her name...something with an S...Sara?...Selah?...Sappy? I don't know and in all honesty I don't care. Anyway the girl looks like she is about to throw up, seriously her face is an extremely unhealthy shade of green. Sappy it is then, it's fitting. The boy next to her is trying to put on a brave face and comfort Sappy but it is pretty obvious he's just as nervous as she is. I've been hearing all kinds of interesting stories about that boy. Someone, in fact it might have been the aforementioned district eight slowpoke, told me that he was a criminal and volunteered so he could get out of jail. While _I _thought that was brilliant the district eight chick had been absolutely terrified of him. Insert eye rolls here. I imagine that the two of them would be ridiculously easy to terrorise, and as fun as that sounds, I don't think that either one of them really has half a chance at getting a good score anyway so I don't bother trying to lower them.

Then of course there's Boston, sitting all on his lonesome now that his big career buddies have all up and left him. God the brute is an airhead. Anyone with _half_ a brain can see that that they're only bothering to let him near them because they need the numbers and they need people who are disposable. That and that little bitch from two wants minions and Boston's got just enough, or should I say just that little, intelligence to fit the role perfectly. In all honesty I have no idea why they're even bothering with him, he may be some huge thug in appearance but he's a thug that is going to get bloodbathed. I mean just look at him, eyes manic, gaze constantly flitting around the room not to mention he's practically convulsing he's shaking so badly simply because he has to go through his individual training session. If he can't stand the tiny amount of pressure here, how on earth does anyone think he'll last more than one second in the arena? Now I have to admit torturing Boston has become one of my absolute favourite past-times but making him snap out of control is getting so damn easy that I'm getting kind of bored of it. And like I said, the beast is so dumb he's bound to be a bloodbath anyway so whatever his score is doesn't really matter does it? Nope I'm going to need someone better to intimidate.

One of the kids from eleven chose that moment to grace us with his presence. He has his head stuck so far down in a book that I seriously wonder if his face has been glued to the pages. The kid barely makes it to his table before one of the huge, steroid filled guards comes up and rips the book from his hands.

"No books allowed," he booms unnecessarily considering its practically silent in the room. The guard doesn't even give the kid any time to argue, he just throws the book with all his strength against the back wall, ignoring the kid's panicked look, nearly hitting _me_ in the process. The guard looks at me with a self satisfied grin, but the look I give him quickly wipes the smile off his face and he scurries back out of my line of sight. Smart man. Apparently I've made some kind of name for myself.

I look back at the boy who is now looking so ridiculously terrified that I immediately rule him out as my next target. Whatever this kid's problem is, he's clearly already broken. I don't take any pleasure in torturing those who are all ready damaged; I like to be the one to break the strong.

The two from twelve haven't arrived yet but I've already picked my next victim anyway so I don't bother wasting any time waiting for them. Besides, let's face it, they're from twelve, like they stand half a chance anyway. I can't believe I didn't pick my prey earlier, one glance at her and I know she's exactly what I'm looking for. In fact I already knew she annoyed the crap out of me, I must just be really out of it right now because there is no way I would have dawdled like this on a good day. I have been waiting to sink my teeth into that little brat from eleven since the very first moment her exceedingly cocky face caught my gaze.

The girl herself is nothing special, small, thin, dark hair, dark skin, chocolate coloured eyes: you know, the kind of chick who is so girl-next-door they should be put onto postcards or crappy TV commercials or something. In appearance she screams innocence and ignorance, and if I hadn't seen her before I would have labelled her a bloodbath straight away. The thing about her that pisses me off so much is her attitude. To put it bluntly the girl is in _way_ over her head. She's not exactly trying to hide the fact that she's trained for this, which she thinks puts her in some kind of position of superiority. And I mean _come on. _You are from district eleven for god's sake; do you really think anyone takes you seriously? Her self-confidence and outward cockiness have really been getting at me these past few days and now I think it's time to take her down a peg or two.

I'm about to move over to the district eleven girl's table when, _finally_, the district nine boy's name is called from across the room. I turn and glare at him because it takes him a few seconds to actually put two and two together and register that they've said his name. His district partner mutters a few words of encouragement as he gets up and with as much fake confidence as he can muster up he makes his way to the door, quite obviously trying his hardest to keep his chin held high. Once he disappears behind that door that seems to be freeing all the other tributes from this hell on earth Sappy becomes visibly worse, which I didn't even think was possible.

"Hey Proviron!" I call out to the guard who had thrown away the district eleven kid's book, "I think you might need to get a bucket for Sappy over here."

The guard, who apparently didn't find my steroid joke funny, is absolutely glowering at me for saying something like that to him in public but he and I both know that to him I am absolutely untouchable. He can't lay a single finger on me lest he reduce my chances in the games. Despite how damn angry he is, he listens to me and goes and gets a bucket for the girl. As it is, everyone in the room is staring at me, except of course Sappy herself who's colouring is now a mixture of that green she had before and beetroot red from her embarrassment. This whole good behaviour thing is getting kind of boring anyway, and besides my plan doesn't revolve around any of these nobodies so who cares how much attention I get from them. The one downside is that because all of them are watching me I can't make my way over to the district eleven girl yet. So instead I occupy myself with looking daggers at anyone stupid enough to make eye contact with me.

It isn't long before Sappy is called to go into her session and I do my best to contain my laughter as she makes her way towards the door, taking small, feeble, shuffling steps and looking like she is about to burst into tears. Imagine what she would have been like if I had actually chosen to prey on her, it would have been so damn pitiable that she probably wouldn't have made it all the way to the door.

Once Sappy has been gone for a few seconds I decide that I'll have to go torment the district eleven girl now or I'll never get the chance. But as I'm making my way over to her table, which is conveniently located on the complete other side of the damn room, the guards outside the door to the training room call Boston in for his session. How the hell was Sappy that fast? She was literally only in there for like half a minute. She must have really bombed out; well you can't say I didn't warn you.

Boston gets up right in front of me, his eyes even more crazed than they had been before and once again I decide that the opportunity is just too good to ignore. I come up behind Boston and give him a hard clap on the back; though mind you through all that hide he probably didn't even feel it.

"I'd wish you good luck Bossy, but I just don't think it'll help you at all," I say as I come in from the side and wrap my arm around his neck, squeezing it a little too hard to pass for a hug. Boston flinches at my touch, almost like he's repulsed by the human contact, and seems likes he's about to literally grab me by the neck and throw me off him but I can see my favourite guard is watching us with a keen eye so I manage to pass Boston a friendly warning with a, "Nah ah ah, not while everyone's watching."

As his eyes flit across the room and towards the guard I quickly detach my arm from its position around his neck, feeling the tension in his body release after doing so, and let him scuttle off towards the doors, noticing that he keeps clenching and unclenching his fists as he walks. Time to call in the psycho police anyone?

I glance around the room and once again find that all eyes are on me, something that is become rather repetitive but I can understand why it is happening: nobody else is doing anything remotely interesting or controversial, no wonder people watch me, they'd be bored shitless if they didn't. I lock eyes with my guard and he raises one eyebrow at me in question, too scared to actually confront me. In response I bat my eyelashes at him innocently, a mischievous smile on my face, before turning around to face the district eleven girl.

"Was that really necessary?" She asks, not really looking me in the eye as she does, almost like she's trying to act like she's so above me I don't deserve her attention, "I mean why bother trying to anger him? And what was the point of humiliating Sapphire like that?"

I keep my confident almost-smile and mischievous eyes pointed at her as I sit down across from her, "Does there need to be a point? It was fun, and it was just that easy, so why not?"

"Because you and I both know you're stronger than they are, so really you're just stooping low and getting in a few cheap shots." This time she meets my gaze, her eyes surprisingly fierce.

I nod, "I might know I'm strong, but it's my job to see that the rest of you are put in your place." I smile with fake innocence as I extend my hand out towards her, "I'm Aleah."

She looks at my hand suspiciously and refuses to take it but begrudgingly gives me her name anyway, "Lilly."

"So, riddle me this Lilly," I say while pulling back my hand, my nonchalance impressive even for me, "You think that career tributes are disgusting don't you? You believe that what they do and what they stand for is abominable and that they are all scum, right?"

She looks stunned, probably wondering how the hell I know about her little anti-career vendetta. I decide to fill in the gaps for her, sounding as patronising as I can, "You hear a lot and see a lot when you make the effort not to speak."

Lilly quickly tries to regain her cool after being called out like that. Aleah, one, Lilly, zero. "Yes, careers are bloodthirsty and primitive and I can't stand the sight of them."

"Yet, has it never occurred to you that maybe if you looked in a mirror you would see that you yourself are in fact the very thing you so greatly despise."

To put it politely that gets her fuming. I can pretty much see smoke coming out from her ears before she quickly spits, "I am _not_ a career."

"Try and look at it from an outsider's perspective and add up the facts. You've trained for the games, you've already made a few allies one of whom is a volunteer from four, you've already picked out some specific targets to kill in the games and I would be willing to bet that you already know exactly what you're going to do in that training room, am I right? Sounds like career material to me." I'm glaring at her across the table now, knowing full well that I practically have her in checkmate. Unfortunately, she's not cracking as I would have liked, but her anger is building and building to the point where hopefully she will try and do something stupid and completely in character.

"Look here you self-righteous _bitch,_" she hisses across the table, leaning over closer to me, "I am not a career and don't you dare say I am ever again!"

I pretend to look shocked before making a small 'tsk, tsk.' "Lilly, what would your mother say if she heard you using such _appalling_ language? What are you, like twelve? You should get a time out for that."

"I'm fourteen and I can call you whatever I like." She looks like she's trying so hard to look all scary and macho that it actually comical, "Just because you're some cold, harsh, narcissistic shrew does not give you the right to bash on other people just because you can."

"Actually, it does," I can't help but sneer at her pathetic defence, "These games are not a picnic, so either man up and take whatever crap get's thrown at you, or stay the hell out of my way."

Lilly looks like she's about to lash into another round of crappy insults when the sound of the guard's voice stops her.

"Aleah Armani."

I turn back to Lilly and glare at her one more time but she speaks before I get eh chance to, "Looks like that's you." I get up and make my way to the door but before I step inside she calls out to me, "I'd say good luck, but I don't think it will help you." The mockery in her voice is plain for the world to see. Seriously? The best line she's had all day and she stole it from me, pathetic.

I whip my head back around, like I'm going to let that brat have the last word, "How rude of me I didn't even mention your training session," I say with false sincerity before twisting my smile into a menacing grin, "Break a leg." And with that I turn around and walk into the training room.

So walking into my training session I'm not exactly nervous. Assuming everything goes the way I want it to after the five minutes or so I'm in here for my plan will be one step closer towards becoming a reality. I make sure to note everything about my surroundings before I actually begin. The room itself is pretty bland, brushed concrete walls and ceiling with a floor that seems surprisingly cushioned, lest one of those idiots falls and break a limb I suppose. Everything seems pretty normal, although there is this strange smell hanging around the room, something like a combination of burnt toast and enough lavender air freshener to choke a person. The source of the smell becomes much more apparent when I see a huge scorch mark on the floor in front of the Gamemaker's table. With that and the one Gamemaker who's newly bald scalp looks like it had been dipped in acid I could paint a pretty good mental picture. Someone set something, probably that Gamemaker, on fire. Damn I would have loved to see that.

I glare at all the Gamemakers as I walk past them and make my way over to the weapons table, thinking over my plan as I go and as I set up the dummies in the positions I want them in. The plan is simple, blend into the background. I want everyone, well not everyone just the careers mainly, to forget I exist, so that when it comes to remembering who it is they need to kill my name completely get's left off the list. To do so I need a relatively average training score, which is why I can't show these Gamemaker's just what I can do but I can't be a total dunce either.

Once I set the dummies up in the right spots I quickly chose two long, thick knives as my weapons before beginning the circuit. I run towards the first dummy, launching myself into the air and landing on top of it, bringing it down to the ground as I do so. In the same moment I draw my knife across its neck with so much strength that the dummies head is completely severed from its body. Before the Gamemakers even get time to react I flip off the first dummy and use the momentum to plunge my knife into the 'heart' of the second.

The third dummy I had equipped with a sword, not that it could use it or anything, but you know for show and whatnot. I run towards it before sliding on my knees under its outstretched sword and use my knife to swipe the back of its legs before getting up in a flash and stabbing it in the back. For the fourth and final dummy I turn and quickly stab it in the abdomen then cut my other knife across its face and snap kick it so it flies back a couple of metres. I should do this more often, it feels amazing. I want to keep going, to show them just how deadly I can really be, but I have to stop and just fade into the background.

I clap my hands together before turning around to face the Gamemakers. Some of them look both shocked and impressed at my quick dummy massacre. Others just look bored, like they've seen this all before, which is what I want. I want them to see me as another average tribute and give me like a 5 or something around there, something that says, "Meh, she's not bad, but she won't last all that long."

"Well," I say, breaking the silence, "I'm going now. It's been a pleasure." And with that I storm out the door, making the extra effort to slam it behind me.

The waiting room outside the training room is surprisingly, and annoyingly, busy. There are about five other people hanging around aimlessly, some of whom in better states than others.

Sappy has been laid out along one of the couches, her skin a deathly pale white and a tiny little cut on her leg. Her criminal district partner is sitting beside her looking worried and gently trying to wake her up. It's pretty obvious to see she's passed out and I almost want to suggest that someone drench her in water but I restrain myself because there are other people here whom I am much more interested in.

Boston was sitting further along but this time he was not alone. Two others had come to join him and the reason that I'm interested is because they're careers. And not just any careers, the two who are talking to Boston are Roy Rousseau and Onyx Marshal. Now to you those names might mean nothing but first let me explain.

My fascination with the career pack could probably be compared with that of a biologist studying some strange and exotic species of animal, the only difference being that the biologist is studying for research, I'm studying to survive. Over the few days that I managed to observe them I gathered some pretty interesting facts and observations. They're dynamics and actions really are quite primal, to the point where I've begum comparing them to a pack of dogs. Despite their extremely separate and varied personalities they have some kind of hidden understanding that makes it possible for them to function as a whole and within their ranks they have a structure that they all seem to subconsciously obey. This is where Roy and Onyx come in. Keeping in key with my dog pack metaphor Roy, the pre-picked pyromaniac, would be the alpha male and Onyx, the snarky little wannabe murderess, would be his bitch. As interesting as their dynamic is it's not Roy I'm interested in in this pair, it's Onyx.

Onyx pisses me off even more than Lilly does. The fact that she thinks she's the absolute queen of the world and that we should all be at her feet kissing her toes makes me want to strangle her. That and she is trying so damn hard to look like she's some killer in the making and that we should all be terrified of her when in reality she's just a little girl who just needs to get punched in the face. The interesting thing about her is just how damn power hungry she is. It's painfully obvious that the idea that she's not the one in control absolutely infuriates her and the fact that she has to defer to Roy is killing her not to deep down inside. The games haven't even started yet and already I can see crack's forming in their facade. I think that if a little pressure were to be put on them the fractured relationship that they are pretending is so strong would just crumble and fall apart. That's where I step in. Step two of my plan, infuriate Onyx to the point where she wants to kill me more than anything in the world. If Onyx is deadest on trying to murder me and none of the other careers can even remember who I am there could be some conflicting plans and ideas within their ranks, hopefully enough to put them all on edge and make them all distrust one another. Simple? Yes. Risky? Hell yes. Affective should it work? You bet.

I walk up to Boston and stand with my arms crossed in front of him, "Why doesn't it surprise me that Bossy wants to affiliate with the dog pack?"

Boston eyes dart up to me, the hate for me he harbours showing delightfully but he didn't respond. But, just as I hoped, Onyx did.

"What did you just call us?" She asks, stepping up towards me and trying to look down at me. Emphasis on the word trying, it would appear it's quite hard to look down on someone when you're considerably shorter than they are.

I turn around to face her, fixing my icy cold glare on her, which she quite obviously didn't expect, "I called you the 'dog pack.' You know for a dog you're hearing's really not that great. You should probably get that checked while you still have a chance."

Her face quickly contorts in rage as her fury begins to build. Roy, who is standing behind her loosely grabs her on the shoulder before saying, "Come on Onyx. Leave it alone." He quickly makes eye contact with me. He's not an idiot, he can see that I'm just baiting her, and that she's falling for it.

She shakes him off and makes another step towards me, "How _dare _you! You skinny, weak little twig! You're from district ten; you're completely out of line if you think you can get away with saying something like that to _me._"

I look over the top of her and at Roy, "Did you get any of that? All I heard was some bitch barking."

Her eyes widen in absolute fury, "You're the biggest idiot I have ever met. You think it's smart taking me on? I could kill you with both my hands tied behind my back!"

"Onyx!" Roy yells from behind her, his voice sounding surprisingly authoritative, "We're leaving _now_."

"Cool it Pyro," I say back calmly, "It'll take much more than a few empty threats from this pooch to scare me off." To my surprise he actually kinda smiled at that. Onyx, however, did not.

"I could rip your head right off your neck in less than a second you bitch," she hisses at me.

I give her a devious smile, "Well...you could try."

And with that, she snaps. Onyx lunges at me, snarling and raving but Boston quickly gets up to stop her before she can reach me and at the same time Roy is restricting her from behind. They both know the shit she'd get into if she actually did try and kill me. However I have to hand it despite their restraints she was putting up a hell of a fight, kicking and screaming and clawing her way towards me. I however didn't flinch instead I just smiled at her as I saw my plan coming into a reality. Boston and Roy drag her away from me at that point although I take immense pride in the hate filled look she gives me as the two boys pry her away.

"I can't believe it," I hear from behind me, "That's the second time someone has tried to kill you and yet you haven't even had a finger laid on you."

I turn around to see Lilly standing behind me, looking fairly content but at the same time I think she would have enjoyed seeing Onyx rip my throat out. I give her a knowing grin, "I'm just that good Lilly. I'm just that good."

I have no interest in talking to her now that we've both finished our training sessions so I strut away before she can say anything in response and make my way back up to my capitol room. Somehow, don't ask me how, Boston beat me back but he looks absolutely _thrilled_ to see me. I plan to sneak away to my room but unfortunately my stylist, Carmen, beats me to it and intercepts me.

"I need a few more measurements," she says with an evil smile, knowing how much this will please me, "and I want you to try on your interview dress."

Carmen was the only person I had met since this began that I actually liked. Probably because she's one of those people who can just brush off anything you give them but she still can dish it out and won't take any of my shit. That and she has moments where she is absolutely hilarious, if you can get over her bleached white hair and obsession with candyfloss coloured clothes. In fact, probably the only reason I like her is that she's kind of like me, just nicer.

"Right now?" I ask with a groan, considering launching into some insults and witty responses but by now I've realised that Carmen won't take no for an answer and won't be thrown off by anything I give her.

"Right now," She smiles at me in victory and she guides me into my room before gesturing towards a long red dress hanging over my bed head. I take one look at it then turn back around to her and look at her in protest.

"Like hell you're going to get me into that thing!"

Carmen's smile became increasingly more wicked, "It's that or you go naked."

I grimace at her and dramatically, pretending to weigh up my options, before snatching the dress off the bed and storming off to my bathroom to change. Once I have the bloody torture dress on Carmen puts me in front of a mirror so that I could see myself. The dress itself is blood-red and feels scarily like it was made out of satin. It has a diamond encrusted neckline which flows the bodice and accents the low cut, open back. Oh, did I not mention that, yeah the dress has no back, in fact the first time I can actually feel any material on my back is about an inch above my ass. Put that together with the very tight sexy style that clings to my breasts and my hips and the ruffled bodice and all in all the dress is absolute torture. I mean, sure I look hot, but this dress sands for everything feminine that I am completely against and how was I supposed to scare and intimidate people looking like _this?_ That and there is _no _chance of me fading into the background looking as hot as this.

I am about to verbalise my protest to Carmen when but she sees it coming and just looks at me, daring me to say anything. I sigh and don't bother, knowing I won't get anywhere with her, and stand in a silent fury as she puts a few pins in here and there before freeing me and letting me get changed out of the dress.

"I hate you on every level possible," I say as I give her back the dress.

"When you see how all the capitol people drool over you you'll love me," she says back, "I'm going to go fix this dress but I'll see you later."

"I'll only let you go if by 'fix' you mean 'throw in the trash.'" I call out after her as she leaves which earns me the finger before she disappears.

After a shower and a few blissful hours on my own Esserenda forces me out of my bed and back into the world of the living. As she quite literally drags me out of bed and down the hall she begins rambling on about something, what I'm not quite sure.

"So I'll need you to get me your token so I can have it scanned because if it's something that can be used as a weapon it'll be banned because it's just not fair you see because otherwise some people could bring in spears or something ridiculous like that and I mean..." and it goes on and on and on and I swear she didn't breath one during that speech, if I didn't want to slap her I'd be impressed.

"That's easy," I said, shutting her up for a few seconds, "I don't have one."

"What?" Esserenda says with a shocked look on her face, "You don't have a token?"

I look at her like she's a total idiot, "Having a token from home suggests that actually making it back to district ten is some kind of incentive for me," I say in a condescending tone, "Personally, I couldn't be gladder to be free of that hellhole. No, when I win this I'm going to pick up Sean then get the hell out of there as fast as I possibly can and come reside here in the capitol. True, it might be a total freak-fest here, you being the proof Esserenda, but anything could beat that dump. So no, Esserenda, I don't have a token, because the minute I get back from knocking off these twenty-three morons I'm going to leave district ten, and everyone it, buried behind me in the excessive levels of thick, red dust that it is so damn famous for."

Blessedly she's quite shaken up by that and for the next few minutes she can't make out any kind of sentence. But it doesn't stop her for long and in no time she's gawking on about something again. When I get to the point where I want to physically rip out some of her piercings to make her shut up I decide that another course of action is required.

I put my hand up in front of her face and cut her off quickly, unable to listen to her ridiculously shrill voice for even a single second longer, "Stop, just stop. Seriously right now your voice is hitting a frequency that human ears can't hear. You'd have more luck trying to get a cat to understand you. Or even better, a dog." I clap my hands and turn around to face the boys sitting behind me, "Hey Boston, want to come translate for me?" I make a dramatic production of clapping my hands and whistling while saying in a patronising voice, "Here Boston. Come here," and I watch as the fury slowly starts to build underneath his eyes and that madness that keeps popping up from within him begins to appear.

"Don't you ever get tired of acting like such a bitch Aleah?" he says in a small, pathetic vice, however I do notice his fists clenched, probably to stop them making their way to my throat.

I don't miss a beat, "Only when the competition is as abysmal as you Boston."

That shuts him up. And thankfully not a single one of them said another word to me till we had to see the training scores revealed.


	29. Private Training Scores

**Chapter Twenty-nine - Training Scores**

**A/N: **This is the time we've all been waiting for, the training scores. I know I've been especially excited... what with Maia's score in the mix as well, but that's beside the point. The point is that we get to know who's on top... and who's on bottom. Before you complain about the scores to the writer of this chapter, each individual author came up with the score for their tribute according to what they did in their training session. And I had to dumb quite a few down. Especially all of the people requesting elevens and twelves. I mean - they're being ridiculous! I have a list of the reccomendations for the scores that mikki and I set before I asked for thema s a referance point if you need it:

1 - 3 under average scores. About 5 or 6 tributes should be in this area really. Rubbish tributes, ones throwing the scores, ones who do something radical and get punished for it.

4 - 6 average scores. Most non-career tributes should be getting somewhere in this region.

7 - 9 career scores. Careers should be rolling around this area.

10 - 12 pretty untouchable scores. No tribute really should be getting this kind of thing, especially not 11 or 12.

So enjoy this chapter then by... packman23 (D10 Male) and don't get too riled up about them.

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><p><strong>Author's AN:** Howdy all, Packman23 here, writer of the D10 male, Boston Williams. I'm glad you're all enjoying the fic so far and I hope you'll enjoy this chapter just as much.

In terms of comments, I've noticed some of you criticised the fact that some of my paragraphs are far too long, so I've tried to make sure that doesn't happen in this fic. I'm going to be concentrating mostly on the interaction between the Careers in this chapter, so don't expect to see so much craziness from Boston this time. The craziness will be there though, although it'll probably turn up later in the chapter.

For the lazier of you there's a full list of training scores at the bottom of this page. Enjoy.

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><p><strong>Private Training Scores - Boston Williams (D10 Male)<strong>

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><p>AN: Howdy all, Packman23 here, writer of the D10 male, Boston Williams. I'm glad you're all enjoying the fic so far and I hope you'll enjoy this chapter just as much.

In terms of comments, I've noticed some of you criticised the fact that some of my paragraphs are far too long, so I've tried to make sure that doesn't happen in this fic. I'm going to be concentrating mostly on the interaction between the Careers in this chapter, so don't expect to see so much craziness from Boston this time. The craziness will be there though, although it'll probably turn up later in the chapter. Please note that the lack of question marks in Boston's sentences are intentional, since he's speaking in monotone.

For the lazier of you there's a full list of training scores at the bottom of this page. Enjoy.

**Boston Williams (D10 Male)**

"Don't get too cocky out there kid, you may be in their good books now, but that doesn't mean you're gonna stay that way..."

"Leave the poor boy Heath... Look how pale he is... He doesn't need you badgering him..."

"Yeah Heath... Look how pale he is... Ooh, do you think you'll throw up Boston? That would be fun, wouldn't it?"

Heath. Esseredna. Aleah. Words and faces blur past at amazing speed, their words barely landing in my ears until they are whisked away. I blink a few times, but it doesn't help. My eyes are heavy from lack of sleep, my body heavy from the strain of constant lifting and carrying, bending and stretching, swinging and blocking and ducking and diving and parrying. Only one thing sticks in my mind right. One solitary image in the darkness.

Aleah.

The little snake is dancing and spinning around me, sometimes close enough for me to reach out and break her frail little neck, other times on the other side of the room, pretending to mock some other poor sap, like the little twig girl from Eleven or the boy from Nine. She's mocking me. She loves it. Every second brings her a pleasure far greater, far more intense than any joy she has ever been given by her family.

She loves my torment. She revels in it.

"She's trying to put you off." The voice in my head isn't mine, which is good I guess, since it snaps me out of my stupor. The voice is that of the Victor. I spin around, staring into Heath's retreating hairline, and cast my eyes down until I find his face.

"Off." I mutter, more a statement than a question.

"Yeah off. O. F. F. Don't fall for it Boston, don't rise to it. You got a sweet thing going with the Careers. Stick with them." Heath pulls me away from the girl, hurling me in the direction of the Career pack and watching as I stumble to my seat. Claus, a blond boy standing by the edge of the group, casts his eyes over to me, his face wrinkling up into the smallest of frowns, before returning his attention to the group. It appears that I've come in in the middle of a conversation.

"What do you mean he's not with us?" One of the girls, a short woman a few years older than me with a dead wasp tied around her neck, shrieks. Her voice is shrill but demanding, carrying a rough edge to it that suggests this is a girl who wants things done her way, kind of like an older sister who's used to being left in charge.

"I mean he said no." Another voice sighs. This voice is more patient, but it's starting to get edgy and I recognise the speaker as Hyre. He's large, but not quite as big as me, and he rests on his elbows, bored, as the Capitol anthem drones ever onwards in the background.

"How can he say no?" The girl groans, "Aren't you freaks supposed to stick together?"

"Nothing about it in the rules." Hyre snarls back, looking more and more like one of my old bosses with every passing second, "Aren't you District Three kids supposed to be attractive?"

The girl snarls, looking like she wants to punch him, but instead just roars a profanity and turns away. Her name's Jules, I think, and I guess she must have been bought in because she's a good shouter. I really can't see any other reason for her to be in this alliance. I mean, sure I'm only here because I'm the largest tribute this year, but that's at least a reason.

In time the girl turns back, still slightly irate, and asks another question. "Why?" "Hmm?"

"Why's he not joining us? You'd think he'd want to."

Hyre shrugs, standing up, "Yeah. Says he doesn't like Careers or some crap like that. Personally I don't get it. You aren't a Career and you're still here. Why not Moss?"

"Dunno. What about Mrs Victor? Can we trust her?" Hyre shrugs again. It seems to be becoming a sort of tick.

"I'll keep an eye out."

The anthem draws to an end and we all stand, facing one of the many screens that line the walls. A symbol flashes up on them, followed by two faces, a lunatic grin sported on the left one, a small smile on the left.

Roy and Skye. My eyes cast over the crowd to the pair at the head of our little alliance. They stand there, the boy's eyes fixed on Skye, a nervous grin playing on his lips. He's shaking slightly and he doesn't seem to be able to form coherent sentences when he's near her. Skye on the other hand is practically beaming, her eyes switching from one screen to the other in awe, her hands playing with the zips on the tracksuit they got her.

They almost look like a pair, standing there, awaiting the numbers that will decide whether they live or die, but I know better. Roy's insane. He's a monster without parallel. A pyromaniac who doesn't see those he has to protect as any more than kindling. It disgusts me. I suspect he'll score highly.

His number comes up. Nine. Then hers. Five.

Five. I wasn't expecting five. I thought she was a Career. I thought she was supposed to be able to fight. She looks around with her big doe eyes as Roy leads her over to the rest of us and sits her down, glaring across at Moss on the other side of the room as he does so. The other boy returns the glare and the girl standing next to him even shakes her fist.

"They call themselves the Anti-Careers," Hyre explains.

"Heh. That's a silly name." Skye giggles, "Why do you think they call themselves that?"

"Anti-Careers huh?" Roy smirks before bellowing across the Arena at the other group, "Yeah. Big men. Which one of us got the Nine huh?"

"Which one of us got the five?" The girl replies, a sneer on her face.

Roy bites his lip, eyes darkening and, next to him, Skye smiles, patting him on the back.

"Aww, it's OK Roy," Skye says, and odd sort of smile playing on her face, "Maybe they didn't hear me tell them about the blood." I shake my head. Now that I'm closer I can see exactly why this girl only got a five, she's just not Career material. The girl looks around a bit more, flatly ignoring her seething Escort in the corner, and makes a bit of small talk as the next few scores come up. She prattles on about how big the rooms and the TVs are here and how you'd never find anything nearly this good in her house, or at least not her basement. It's a surprise to see someone like this and I actually find myself smiling a few times in her little act. What can I say? She's adorable. Like a little sister.

"Ten!" Onyx, the tiny little teen sitting next to me cheers as her number comes up, along with that of her District partner, "Ha! Beat you!"

"Eight is not a bad score." Hyre sighs, not really sounding like he means it, "Just you wait till the ones and twos start rolling up."

"Still means I'm better than you though!" Onyx grins, pressing herself right up close to Hyre. The boy pushes her back, gaining a punch in the face for his troubles and having to be restrained by Claus to stop him doing anything stupid. Onyx just sits there, grinning her head off and not even looking at me. If I had to place her in our alliance, I'd say she's another little sister. A really, really immature little sister.

"Hey, hey Jules!" Onyx snickers, in a display so childish that I feel the hatred inside my stomach begin to bubble up, "How well do you think you'll do huh? Think you can beat me?" Jules shrugs and the girl grips her chin, turning it towards her even though the other girl fights against it, "I said," She snarls, a bit of her normal cool fury beginning to resurface under all that insufferable bravado, "Do you think you can beat me? Huh?" Jules face contorts into an expression of pure hate, just as her score flashes up on screen. Jules Surket. Six.

"I think I have a fair shot." Jules smiles, "Six must be, I don't know, thirty at your age." The District Five boy smirks as Jules shakes her head free of Onyx's grip. Onyx grips out for it again, but as she does so the boy's hand comes flashing down, pinning her wrist to the table. Onyx snarls and the boy relents, turning and taking a few steps away from her and closer to his partner in the Anti-Career alliance.

Crack. Factions are beginning to form. Crack. Factions in the Careers. Crack. Factions in my head. In my heart.

I can't think straight. My head hurts.

"What's the matter Bosty?" Skye smiles, pressing her face up to mine so quickly that I jump up in surprise and causing Roy to throw me a look, "Why're you so sad?"

I don't speak, I can't. I just shake my head.

"No? That doesn't make any sense Bosty. Are you sure you're OK?" How does this girl know my name? It's actually kind of creepy. I feel myself begin to sweat as I open my mouth, words beginning to form behind them. They're reassuring words, I think but, before I have a chance to say them, Roy has tugged Skye away, returning her to her state of inane blather and staring around.

"Leave. Her. Alone." Roy snarls. I don't see what I've done. She was talking to me after all.

I turn back to the screens as the Careers settle back down again. I need to distract myself from this, before things get too painful.

The pair from District Four get an Eight and a Ten. Moss looks happy, he pumps his fist and gives me a mocking little wink as his allies, the twin from seven, twig girl and a girl with a massive family and only one parent who reminds me a little bit too much of myself clap him on the back. He's a showman, a Career through and through. Why isn't he in our alliance?

Elia Zervakos doesn't even notice that she gets a ten. She's far too busy snogging her mentor in the corner to notice anything more than what colour eyes the man has. I don't like her that much, she's not really a part of this alliance, more just another name to add to the list.

We move swiftly on to District Five, both of whom get that exact number. Irony? I don't know, even if I did I wouldn't know how to feel about it. Should I laugh? Cry? Crack a joke? It wouldn't matter, it would all be fake, regardless of what I did.

Claus looks happy with his score, regardless of the ribbing it gets him from Roy and Onyx. He doesn't seem to notice them at all, which is odd, I can't take my eyes of that creepy scarred boy. He can't take his eyes of me either. He keeps glancing at me then back at Skye. If he dares to lay a finger on her head I will rip his guts out. No one touches V...

Skye. No one touches Skye. Someone needs to protect her after all. It might as well be me.

District Six is pointless, both as a District and in scoring terms, but it does give us our first one. Relk Stein. I would add him to the list of people who will die in the Bloodbath if I hadn't already done that when I first saw him, even before I'd learnt his name and past.

District Seven brings us another member of the Anti-Careers, and yet another six. I'm starting to wonder whether this alliance is completely serious. They're outnumbered two to one by us and the best they can do is an eight. I'd laugh, but my heart wouldn't be in it.

District Eight and Nine have banded together into their own alliance as well, although I cringe at the idea of that even more than the Anti-Careers. The highest any of them can manage is a five. Still, if any of them come near my fa... the Careers, they'll end up with their head on a pole.

"What did those dolts do?" Roy laughs, his eyes fixed on me as he begins to speak, his other arm sneaking closer to Skye's hand, "Strip naked and dance the can can? Chop their own heads off? Set someone on fire?" Onyx and Hyre smile slightly, but the three of us who were bought in to even the numbers don't even bat an eyelash and Skye looks positively bemused.

"Why would they do that?" Skye asks, "Do they give extra points for those things?"

"Oh yeah, sure." Hyre snickers, rolling his eyes. "Fire starting's where a certain someone got all his points from."

"Yeah," Onyx smiles, still not quite back to normal after her early victory celebration, "Sure. If you were to strip and dance the can can I'm sure someone," Her eyes turn on Roy and she grins, "Would give you extra points."

"Knock it off!" The burnt boy roars pulling his hand away from Skye, before turning towards her, "It's a joke Skye. Come on, you must have heard a few."

"Oh!" She giggles. Roy turns back to Onyx and glares at her, but is met by a sly smile. His face is very red. That's supposed to be an emotion I think, but I don't know what.

Turning back to the screen I realise that I've almost missed my own score. It's not too good, not too bad. It is however better than Aleah's, by a single point. A seven as oppose to a six. Not bad for lugging a bunch of weights around for a few minutes. I want to smile, but instead my face just twitches in a slightly uncomfortable fasion. Claus stares at me as if he wants to say something, but instead just stays silent.

"I'm fine." I growl, guessing at his question.

District Eleven passes over me, although I think I hear a seven in there. District Twelve gets a pair of Sevens, which I guess they must deserve.

The Careers sit and chat for a while more, bragging about what they did to get their scores and how great they are. The tension lifts and, after a while, even Jules joins in. It doesn't look like anything's going to happen, so I get up and turn to leave, just as Elia finally finishes making out.

"So," She sighs wistfully, casting her eyes in the direction of her handsome mentor as she wanders down, "How did I do?"

"Got a two." Onyx replies with a smirk.

I step out of the room and into the corridor, watched closely by a pair of Peacekeepers as I do so, just in case I try to make a run for it. Why would I try? I plan to get back to my family, not die.

My feet fall heavy against the floor, my head nearly brushes the ceiling. My mind drifts and bounces of the walls as it tries to focus on all the scores I have just heard. Tries to bottle all emotion, to choose the one's to watch as carefully as I can, without any bias.

I feel eyes on my back.

A hand slams into me, spinning me round and pinning me to the wall. A burnt face sneers up at me.

"Don't." Roy snarls at me as I step back from the wall, pushing him into the one opposite. It's not like he can stop me, there are Peacekeepers just around the corner and I'm much bigger than him. "Don't touch her!"

"What." I ask.

"Don't. Touch. Skye." Roy snarls.

"Skye."

"Yeah Skye. I've seen you looking. Staring at me all the time. You like her don't you?"

"I do." I nod, my voice as monotone as ever, "Of course. She's my s..." I falter on my words for a second, "She's like my sister."

"Yeah? Well make sure it stays that way. I don't want no lovey dovey stuff going on in my alliance. We're supposed to be professionals you know!" Roy glowers, "Where the hell were you going anyway?"

"My room." I reply flatly, "Unless you'd like me to... stay."

"Why'd I want you to stay?" He mutters, "You're a freak." There's a brief and uncomfortable pause. "Look, just stay away from... her, and I'm sure we'll get on fine."

"Why does she interest you." I ask, "Is she you're next victim." Roy recoils at the thought, a look of... something... disgust I believe, spreading over his face.

"No! What the hell! I- I'm not like that OK! Not normally at least." He trails off, "Look, Boston, or whatever you're name is, she's not my victim. But I don't want her turning into anyone else's victim either."

"Why."

"She's... she... I..." Roy fidgets uncomfortably, his face turning that odd red colour again.

"She needs protecting." I don't know how it happens but, at that moment, we are speaking in unison. Our minds are connected. They are fractured, splintered, cracked and forced into one another. I feel hate and I feel fear and sorrow and loss and love and so so many things. The knot in my stomach explodes outwards and, before I know, the two of us are no longer standing, glaring at each other, but are racing down the hallway, her face in our minds.

And he's scared. He's scared of me. I'm scared of him too, I think. I feel so many things. I laugh and cry in an instant and then am tumbling through the hall, my face never settling on something for more than a moment.

And then her face blurs out of the crowd again, settling, like it always does, on me. Dancing around me. Reveling my pain.

"Ah." The snake faced girl giggles, turning away from Skye and towards us, "The guard dogs are back! Aww, you come to protect your little puppy." Aleah points over to Onyx, who is being restrained from ripping her guts out by not only Hyre but also Jules and Claus. "Really Bosty, Pyro, I don't know why you keep her. She got a five! A five! That's hardly a Career score! Then again I suppose Seven is a bit pathetic too. Feeling average are we?" Aleah grins at me and winks. Roy fumes, advancing on her slowly.

"Don't. You. Dare." He snarls, trying to get between Aleah and her quarry. Aleah grins at Skye, batting her eyelashes in a mockery of the pretty little District One girl.

"Sounds like someone's got a little crush!" Aleah claps her hands together with glee, "How precious. Come on, Roy was it? Nah, that's far too boring. I think I'll just keep calling you Pyro! One of you is just going to die anyway. Probably her. Hey, I know, why don't I kill her... right... now..."

My vision flashes and swims as I launch myself towards Aleah, bowling her over with one solid clout to the shoulder. For an instant I am a schoolboy again, beating back a trio of bullies as punishment for touching my sister. My Vienna. My Skye.

And Roy. He watches from behind me, looking like he'd very much like to join in but too busy pulling Skye away from the girl to have time for it. Skye shouts something about 'Bosty' and 'not having to fight' but I don't care what it is. I don't care that we're not in the Games. That won't save Aleah. That won't stop me from going back to my family. From protecting Vienna from her. It's just one less person to kill. My fist surges down, ready to mash her ugly little snake face into an inhuman mess. To make her cry for a change.

A blow lands on the back of my leg, knocking me to my knees as Aleah doubles over in pain. The world flashes and shimers. My head hurts. My brain aches. The two Victors, Matt and Heath, drag me away from her and pull me to my feet.

"What the hell do you think your doing?" Matt roars, "Leave it for the Arena!"

Aleah pulls herself to her feet, dusts herself off and turns away as my anger fades and supresses itself back into the bundle in my stomach. The two Victors let go of my arms. Snake girl grins over her shoulder as she swaggers away, and almost the entire Arena fix her with their glares.

"Don't look so sad!" Aleah calls, her voice sounding creepily similar to Skye's, "Chin up Boston! Go on! Smile a little! For me!"

I hate her. Everyone hates her. Can't she see that? Can't she see that, with so few allies, there's no way in hell anyone will ever come to her rescue. No one will save her from me.

Which is good. She needs to die. If not for me, then for Skye, and for Roy, and Claus, and for... Onyx. I'll kill her. For the Careers, so I can protect them. For my family, so I can return to them.

I need to protect them. I can't let them see me die. They'd fall apart without me.

Cracks form in my head. I can't see. I can't think straight. I-I-I... Cracks form in my head. They rip through my thoughts, my memory. They change like foam on the shore.

I've never seen the shore.

I'd like to.

I-I just want to hold my family. I just want to speak to them. To Roy. To Skye. To Onyx. My family. I-I can't see. My head hurts. Colours become one. Worlds drift and dive. I'm sinking in my own mind. But I live in a desert. I can't swim.

The Careers... My family... The Careers... My family...

They're the same thing aren't they?

The Careers are my family.

And Skye is my Vienna.

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><p><em><strong>Private Training Scores:<strong>_

**D1M **Roy (9)

**D1F ** Skye (5)

**D2M **Hyre (8)

**D2F **Onyx (10)

**D3M **Mack (5)

**D3F **Jules (6)

**D4M **Moss (8)

**D4F **Elia (10)

**D5M **Claus (5)

**D5F **Aella (5)

**D6M **Relk (1)

**D6F **Rena (7)

**D7M **Aspen (6)

**D7F **Nella (7)

**D8M **Oak (5)

**D8F **Maia (2)

**D9M **Ari (4)

**D9F **Sapphire (2)

**D10M **Boston (7)

**D10F **Aleah (6)

**D11M **Vaughn (3)

**D11F **Lily (7)

**D12M **Clude (6)

**D12F **Tara (6)


	30. Interview Preperation

**A/N: **I'm afraid to say that Mikki105 (our "boss") is no longer partaking in Tears of Blood as her mum shut down her fanfiction account. This means her sister's account, . also has been shut down, so we're having one of us 24 authors (Phoenix Refrain) cover her single chapter. That's pretty much how it goes. Sorry guys, this means I'm the boss now - the numero uno tributo. Now, anyways... Nope, Maia didn't have the one missed out on front of her score, she got a two. But think about it - she set a Gamemaker's hair on fire! You get penalties for things like that. We can't all be lucky like Katniss and kill all of the Gamemakers, getting a twelve as a result of it. I mean, the games just don't work like that. Anyways, you all know what comes straight after the private training scores - the interviews! And what comes before the interviews? The interview preperation! You know, stylists preparing, working out styles and themes with your mentor and escort. That kind of thing. ^_^ So this chapter is by... JoJob19 (D6 Female).

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><p><strong>Rena Sage (D6 Female) by Jojob19 - Interview Preperation<strong>

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><p><em>He gave it to her. He gave her the disease that was thought to be incurable. Then there was the necklace. It had been passed down through her family. <em>

It was all coming back. All of the details that were impressed into the very depths of my mind, and locked there, were coming to me full-force as I was being stripped of my clothes, skin, and identity.

I wake with a start as I hear my stylist screeching in her high-pitched voice.

"Reeeenaa! Hun! Wake up! The chemicals aren't that strong!"

"God, Sirianna! I'm awake!" I say with an angry glare. "Did you swallow a squeaker toy, or is that really how your voice sounds?"

Instead of continuing, like she was going to, my comment stopped her dead in her tracks. If I wasn't trying to keep my angry composure, my face might look as surprised as hers, as I never talk that way to anyone. It must be from the thoughts that I'm trying to shove away from my blackout.

Quietly, she resumes methodically brushing out my lengthy brown curls, while other capitol citizens are picking away at my nails and plucking my eyebrows mercilessly. It bothers me that we have to be made up in such a fake way for interviews. I suppose it's to look "put together".

Suddenly, I remember that I'm about to stand in front of a whole crowd of judgmental people and answer questions in such a way that will either help me or hurt me in the games. I begin chewing my nails as a nervous habit, only to have a rubber band snap on my hand by Sirianna. I glare in her direction, though I'm not really focusing on her, but instead on what my angle needs to be, and how I must portray myself in front of the audience. The Interviews are huge in the Games, but I just can't come up with a way I want to present myself. This is mostly because of my scrambled thoughts, though.

Now that I'm shining and cleaner than I ever have been before, there is yet more to be done to me. They start fixing up the curls in my hair with some weird, hot metal thing. I think back to what my mentor, Linden, told me to say at the interviews. He knows that right away the announcer will inquire about my family, so I'm supposed to tell him about my six siblings. I don't know why, but I feel resistant in wanting to tell so many people this. I expect it's because if I accidentally do anything that angers the capitol, then they have a large group of people that they can use against me. I've been scolded over and over by Linden for thinking, and speaking, like that, but the thoughts refuse to leave my mind. He's also advised me to make the wide-eyed Capitol citizens feel sorry for me. Have them pity me.

I hate Linden for telling me to do such a thing, but he knows what he's talking about, so I force myself to obey. If they feel sorry for me, then I will get sponsors. It's as simple as that. Or so Linden says. What if I begin to yell, or burst into tears? I push the thoughts away as I get pushed. Since Sirianna still won't talk to me, she must think that almost shoving me off of the ornate chair I'm on to get my attention is a good idea. I flail my arms for a second before regaining my balance to stare into the small mirror poised in front of my face.

Sirianna and her shiny minions have finished masking my face with makeup and perfecting my long, silky, curly hair so that it cascades gracefully around my shoulders. My face looks like someone else's, especially my eyes, which are carefully done up so that they give the illusion of molten amber gems. I am somehow pleased with how I look, though maybe that's just because of the chemicals Sirianna had mentioned earlier. Before I can think about what I'm about to do, I jump down from the tall, cushy chair and hug Sirianna.

"Thanks Siri! I don't look like myself, but thank you. I'm sorry about earlier." I say apologetically.

Instead of a nice comment or saying "you're welcome", she says in a forced lower tone, "It's Sirianna. Not Siri. Now get off me, we have you get you in your dress."

I'm a bit taken back at her retort, but I don't have much time to stay on this thought, because my focus is aimed at to my dress. I don't see how Sirianna thinks she'll get me in such an outfit, but she's going to have a hard time trying.

My interview dress is dark teal, and reminds me of hospital scrubs, but silky, sparkly, and long. Most of all, it's feminine and something I would, and will, never wear. A few minions grab my arms so as to direct me towards the dress I already hate, when I begin to struggle. Instead of letting go, their grips tighten, but I'm much stronger from lifting patients, so I'm able to pull my arms away. Hurriedly, I dart from the bright white room, only to run into Linden. Sadly, he's stronger than I am and he guides me back to the blinding lights of the room I had just fled.

I'm giving him a death glare the whole time I'm being pulled in different directions to be squeezed into my dress. His face is blank until I have the dress fully on. Then I see his eyes widen for a moment, though he quickly gains his composure.

Gloomily I turn to gaze into the mirror that covers one of the walls. I had forgotten what my face and hair looked like, so that was still a surprise, but I let out a small gasp as I saw the dress. As much as I hated how girly I looked, the dress was gorgeous. The small jewels seemed to reflect my amber eyes with every movement. I stood there speechless for some time before turning away and putting a bored look on my face, so that Sirianna wouldn't see my true feelings about the beautiful dress.

I'm expecting Sirianna to keep glaring at me, but she just smiles widely at her creation, almost cracking a smile out of me. I have such a hard time keeping a straight face, so her childish giddiness ends up breaking my composure, a small smile forming on my lips.

When I turn around to look at Linden, he has disappeared from the door-frame, probably trying in vain to coach Relk again. I look at my feet to find my nails painted the same color as my dress, though I wonder why because I thought my shoes would cover my toes, like all shoes I've seen. Apparently, I was wrong because Sirianna pulled out shiny gold and teal shoes that look as if they could be weapons. The part that I guessed was going to be under my heel was at least five inches tall and slimmer than any of my fingers. They were much higher than the shoes Layna, the District 6 escort, had me practice in yesterday.

Once they were on my feet, I was afraid to stand. Amazingly, they were much easier to walk in then I had predicted, though figuring out how not to get them snagged in my flawless dress was still a problem. After walking around enough to get used to the whole outfit, I was ushered out to wait with Relk until the Interviews.

I had to choke down my laughter as soon as I saw Relk. He must've gained weight since his stylist measured him for his outfit, as his pasty chub was almost popping the buttons on his turquoise jacket. His blonde hair was stringy and greasy, so I assumed his stylist gave up on his hair.

I probably would've, too if I had to clothe such a little brat as Relk. He turned to look at me and was gaping, his jaw almost dropping. I thought back to the chariot rides and how he had confessed his undying love for me and couldn't figure out if I was going to throw up or burst out laughing, though neither happened, of course, because Linden interrupted. He looked slightly exhausted from his mini coaching session with Relk, which had most likely failed. I'm almost excited to see what the little demon is going to say at the interviews. I only hope he doesn't try to go all gushy and talk about how much he loves me, and how we're "soul mates".

I feel more prepared all put together. I then remember my little daydream earlier and begin to panic. If the announcer asks me something about my dad I might break down and spill everything. Even the things I haven't thought about for four years. Nervously, I begin to pick the polish off of my finger nails that matches my toe nails. Once again, Sirianna breaks out the rubber band to stop me. The snap stops me from picking at my nails, but it doesn't, at all, stop my frantic thought. I'm still panicking, when the Peacekeepers escort Relk and me so that we can be transported to the Interviews, where we'll have to answer questions that we might not want to. Well, questions I don't want to answer, or even hear, at least.


	31. Interviews Part One

****A/N: ****Afraid there was a mix up in communication and mikki has only been blocked from fanfiction for a month or so, so she'll be back in about a week. Sorry, communication problems... and now I am no longer the boss. ;( Anyway... Time for some serious rocking? Yeah, if only! Instead we're presented, not with music, but with a creepy dude named Caesar Flickerman poking around into the tribute's minds... and his dad with him. Yup, that's right. This is the 24th hunger games after all so Caesar's a bit younger than you remember him as from the books! ^_^ Anyway, these interviews are just for the tributes from district one to district four, so I wonder how they roll... it'll be very exciting, won't it? ;) So, now to get to the bit you've all been waiting for, who's writing this chapter. We wanted it to be a career for obvious reasons, so this section of the interviews have been written by... Falconflight (D2 Male)! Read, enjoy and review! We love you for it ... well, some of us anyway.

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><p><strong>Interviews Part 1 (D1 - D4) - Hyre Fletching (D2 Male) by Falconflight<strong>

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><p><em>We cannot banish dangers, but we can banish fears. We must not demean life by standing in awe of death. ~David Sarnoff<em>

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><p>Black. My entire outfit is black. When I took piano, I played in concerts. I always wore black then. In those two years, I played about six concerts. I had become sickened by the color of black afterwards, and when I stopped, I tried never to wear it. Even my tuxedo for the Reapings is dove-gray instead of the traditional black. The outfit that I'm wearing is the exact same as my concert outfit too: long black pants, black leather shoes, and a black button-down shirt. It's larger, obviously, but still…<p>

"Is there a reason I'm wearing this?" I ask as my stylist, Arianne, straightens out my collar.

"I saw a video of you playing at a piano recital," she explains, stepping back for examination. "I thought it would be good to play up a softer side of you since you're nothing special when it comes to looks."

_Thanks for the support, _I think dryly, staring at my reflection in the mirror. _You'd probably be able to work something out with Jaime._

"Well, that's the best you're going to look," Arianne comments. "Time to go then!"

_Good. _I open the door and Arianne invites herself out first without thanking me. I follow her out and down the hall to the elevator. Onyx stands next to her stylist in a short sleeveless black dress. It looks both sexy and dangerous, so it's perfect for her. Malcolm and Polly look over my outfit. They're both a little bit disappointed, though Polly tries to hide it. Malcolm is just frowning at me.

When the doors to the elevator open, I see Peacekeepers and Capitol folk ushering tributes into a single-file line. Onyx and I take our place in between Roy and Jules. Then, we are paraded onto the stage. I take my seat in the arc surrounding center stage where Caesar Flickerman is standing. His hair, eyelids, and lips are cyan blue and stand out against his pure whit makeup. A small child, no older than nine or ten, stands next to Caesar. The boy's hair is the same hue of blue, his face is the same shade of white, and his suit is the same midnight blue; the boy is restless and rocks back and forth.

"Good evening, ladies and gentlemen of Panem!" Caesar announces. "Welcome to the 24th Annual Hunger Games interviews! Also, give a special welcome to my son, Caesar Flickerman Jr!"

The young boy's eyes dart up quickly from the floor as he is greeted with applause. Caesar Jr. flashes a grin at the audience that is nearly identical to his father's winning smile. _He's lucky, _I think enviously. _He never has to worry about the Hunger Games or about what he's going to do when he grows up. He'll take over his father's job of doing the interviews, and life will be good for him._

Caesar Sr. clears his throat to silence the audience. "Miss Skye Azurite?" he calls.

Skye gets up. She's wearing a shimmering silver dress that looks like it's made of silver liquid. The dress isn't sexy, though. It almost looks like a uniform, giving her that school girl impression. She curtsies when she walks up to the stage, and Caesar kisses her hand kindly.

"Welcome, Skye, as the first tribute of the 24th Annual Hunger Games." Caesar greets her in an unusually formal way. "I love your dress."

Skye nods. "It's nice to be able to wear a more formal outfit for an audience."

Caesar frowns. "What do you mean?"

"My parents locked me in the basement for seven years," Skye explains. "I never wore formal clothes for show because there was never anybody to show them to."

"That sounds dreadful," Caesar comments sympathetically.

"I'd hate it if my dad did that to me," Caesar Jr. murmurs sadly.

_I'm surprised my dad didn't do that to me, _I reflect darkly. _I was always such a disappointment; why didn't he just lock me up and hide me away?_

"I'd never do that to you," Caesar Sr. vows, kissing his son on the forehead. I feel a pang of envy because they have the relationship I always wanted. Caesar turns away from his son and back to Skye. "So you never had any friends while you were growing up?"

Skye shakes her head. "My parents were convinced friends would end up betraying me in the end. When I did go to school before they locked me up, though, they'd pay students to follow me and make sure I was safe." She grimaces slightly. "After they locked me up, I got used to being alone. Being alone gave me more time to… practice."

"Practice what?" Caesar presses.

"Certain things," Skye answers vaguely.

_For this, _I think. _For the Games._

The buzzer goes off, signaling the end of Skye's interview. She curtsies again and walks back to her seat as Roy walks up. He is wearing a rumpled gray shirt that shows off his scars and crisp black dress pants. With his pallid and ghostly complexion, Roy looks like he is entirely made of stone.

"Roy Rousseau," Caesar Sr. says, letting Roy's last name slide off his lips. "Your surname is French, yes?"

Roy nods. "I speak a bit of French, actually. Do you want me to show you?"

"Oh, yes please!" Caesar exclaims.

Roy grins in a way that could be defined as insane. "_À toutes les dames ici._" Then, he blows a kiss to the crowd.

About a quarter of the audience screams with delight, but most of them look slightly confused. I myself have no idea what he said. Roy's smile falters slightly, but it does not disappear completely. There's a silence until Caesar Jr. scrunches up his face in an expression I assume is confused.

"What does that mean?" he asks.

Roy's grin widens again. "To all the ladies here." Then, he blows another kiss to the audience.

The affect is instantaneous. Every woman in the City Circle screams and begins to try and catch the kiss Roy had blown. Some people knock into each other trying to grab it, and others break into arguments about who he was blowing the kiss to. I resist the urge to roll my eyes.

_Gullible idiots, _I think harshly.

"Ladies and gentlemen, it seems we have a flirt on our hands!" Caesar announces. "I think we're all a little bit more interested in your home life, though. How does it feel to know your own parents wanted to send you to the arena?"

He shrugs. "It gives me a chance to show of my pyrotechnics." A crazy light enters his amber eyes, and it sends shudders down my back. The light disappears in an instant, though, and he stares at his feet. "It's both heartbreaking and infuriating to know that your parents hate you that much."

"I'm sure your parents don't hate you-" Caesar begins.

"Is that why they sentenced me to death?" Roy demands. The crazy glow is back. "Oh well. I'm not going to go off without a spark. I'm going to show the world why I have these scars." He grins viciously as the buzzer rings, ending his interview.

_I don't like him, _I decide as Roy sits down and Onyx gets up.

Someone whistles approvingly as Onyx walks up in her black dress. She grins and bats her eyelashes in a flirty way. Her smile is full of poison, though, a glimpse of the viciousness that lurks beneath her charms and makeup.

"Very nice dress," Caesar compliments.

"I like it too, though it's a bit tight…" Onyx trails off, and there are lots of cheers and wolf-whistling.

Caesar chuckles. "I think that's the best turnout I've seen yet. The last tribute who tried that trick wasn't even very pretty. Unlike you, though."

Onyx's grin widens. "Thank you. I'm glad you like it. Sven wanted to make it shorter, you know."

The cameras swiveled around to zoom in on the smirking face of Onyx's stylist. He flashes a grin at the camera that sounds shudders down my back. I'm not sure why, but anybody who wants to make a dress like that shorter… it's slightly disturbing, actually. There is something dark in his hazel eyes, too. It bothers me.

"Well, next time, I don't think anyone will disapprove of hacking a couple inches off," Caesar says, and his comment is greeted with roars of approval. "That's a beautiful necklace. A very nice touch added by your stylist."

Onyx looks down at the silver locket with an emerald in the center hanging from her neck. "Oh, my stylist didn't give this to me."

Caesar frowns. "Did your parents give it to you as a token."

Onyx shakes her head. "It's my token, but my brother gave it to me."

"Do your parents hate you too?" Caesar asks jokingly.

"My parents are dead," Onyx whispers quietly. Suddenly, all of it's gone. The sexy, flirty girl, the cruel, vicious Career. All of her layers evaporate by saying those four words.

Caesar looks like he wants to interrogate Onyx further, but the buzzer rings. I get up as Onyx sits down and smoothes out her skirt. I try to remember Polly's lessons on walking right, but all I can remember from the four hours I had with her is wanting to stuff a sock in her mouth to get her to shut up. I can recall more of Malcolm's lesson, though.

"_They're going to ask you questions you don't want to answer," Malcolm told me. "They're going to be incredibly curious about your family, especially Jaime. Will that be difficult for you to answer?"_

_I shook my head. "I've grown up knowing my parents hate me; it shouldn't be that much trouble talking about it openly."_

_That's not true, though, _I think as I reach Caesar and his son. _I can't stand talking about it._

Caesar Sr. nods to me. "Hyre. Was it planned that both you and Onyx would wear black?"

I shake my head. "No. At least, I don't think it was planned." _My piano teacher would probably commit suicide if someone came to a concert wearing in Onyx's dress, _I think, smiling slightly as I remember the old bat-like woman who taught me piano.

"Well, I like the outfit anyway," Caesar Sr. compliments.

Arianne is practically glowing from the praise. I nearly grin when I remember her snapping at me for not looking better. _I wonder if she's sorry for that, _I think as the cameras swivel around to zoom on her ebony black face cut with snow white lines that wrap around her head like ivy. _She'd be the first person to show a bit of regret for insulting me._

"So, I think the question on everyone's mind is: what is your relation to the other boy at reaping?" Caesar asks.

"The one who was screaming profanities at me?" Caesar nods.

I feel a lump grow in my throat, and I instinctively reach to pick at the halo of fuzz that covers my bracelet/token. I remember it's not there, though. It is sitting on the floor in a room back in the Training Center after being practically ripped off by one of my prep-team members. It feels odd not wearing it.

I try to swallow the lump in my throat, but it stays there. "He's my brother," I mumble at last. "My **twin **brother," I stress.

Caesar bites his lip sympathetically. "That must be awful. Makes me feel lucky that I don't have any other children."

_You are lucky, _I think enviously.

"Did you beating your brother-" Caesar begins.

"Jaime," I interrupt because Jaime has never been 'your brother'; I've always been 'Jaime's brother'. "His name is Jaime."

"Did beating Jaime to the stage cause any hard feelings in your family?" Caesar amends.

_The hard feelings were already there, _I think bitterly.

"Well, nobody came to say goodbye to me if that gives you any hint," I say sarcastically.

There are gasps of pity and sympathy that ripple through the crowd. Caesar looks empathetic, but Caesar Jr. doesn't pick up on my sarcasm; he looks thoroughly perplexed.

"What does that mean?" Caesar Jr. asks rudely.

"The chosen tributes get an hour after the Reapings to say goodbye to their family," Caesar explains. "However, sometimes, in a rare case, if the tribute is disliked, no one will come."

Caesar Jr. keeps frowning. "Does that mean everybody hates you?"

Thankfully, the buzzer rings, and I don't have to answer that question. Jules slips by me as I sit down. Her stylist tried (and failed) to straighten her brown hair, so it is still in the same pixie-cut it had been for the reaping. Her dress is pastel yellow, which is rather plain compared to Onyx and Skye's outfit.

"I think everybody in interested in your… unique token," Caesar begins. "How did you find a tracker jacker, and, more importantly, how did you capture it?"

Jules shrugs. "They're everywhere near the outskirts of the district, and I didn't capture it. Someone gave it to me."

"Who?" Caesar presses.

"Someone," Jules repeats.

Caesar frowns. That's not an answer most Capitol-folk like. "I think you shocked most people when you began swearing at the reaping," Caesar continues, trying to ignore Jules' coldness. "Is there a specific reason you did that?"

"You'd curse too if you got reaped," Jules answers.

Caesar sighs, still not satisfied with her responses. "How does it feel to know that you were so close to being safe from the Hunger Games?"

"You should be able to figure it out on your own," Jules replies. "I was swearing, after all."

Caesar's mouth tightens as he tries to disguise his disappointment. "Yes, but-"

"Look, it feels damn awful," Jules snaps vehemently. "It feels like your whole life has turned to shit. Does that answer your question?"

Caesar looks slightly mortified, but Caesar Jr. just looks confused. "What does shit mean?" he asks, a little too loudly.

The audience laughs and whistles with approval. Caesar Sr. blushes, which makes his white cheeks turn the color of pale roses. He shoots his son a dark glare, but Caesar Jr. is basking in his own glory. Jules seems very frustrated, though. The buzzer rings, though, silencing the crowd's hoots of laughter.

Jules walks away without a second's hesitation, and Mack stands up. He is nicely dressed in a black dress shirt, black pants, and a blue and red tie. At least he has a splash of color; it's better than wearing all black.

"So Mack, this must seem like a big change from District 3," Caesar begins. "What do you think of it so far?"

Mack pauses and shrugs. "It's all so amazing I feel like I'm going to wake up soon."

_Just wait until the Games start, _I think darkly.

Caesar smiles. "I still feel that way, and I've lived here all my life!"

Caesar Jr. nods affirmatively.

"So, is there anything you haven't enjoyed so far?" Caesar asks.

Mack frowns. "I nearly got sick the first day."

"From the food?" Caesar presses.

Mack nods grimly.

"Sometimes I do too," Caesar admits with an air of seriousness.

The audience laughs when he says that; I'm not sure why. Mack smiles a bit and laughs too. The laughter dies down quickly, though, and all eyes are turned back to Caesar and Mack.

"And what have you found to be the most interesting?" Caesar asks.

Mack frowns. "I have no idea. Everything is just so… **big**."

Mack's eyes are as large as eggs as he stares off in awe. Caesar smiles fondly; tributes usually don't like the Capitol so much. I know Polly probably likes him too. She loves the Capitol and its supporters.

"So, we've had four tough tributes. Do you have a motto to get you through?" Caesar inquires.

Mack inhales deeply, and for a moment, the happy kid stunned by the Capitol is gone. He looks fearful, but it's only for a second. It fades, though, and he smiles. It is a sort of a smirk, almost cocky. _Poor kid thinks he actually has a chance._

"It's been scientifically proven a person can last eight days without food," Mack begins to recite, "three days without water, three minutes without oxygen, but not a minute without hope. So I'm going to keep on hoping."

The buzzer rings, and Mack walks down. Elia gets up; she's wearing a sea green sleeveless dress. As she walks up, someone wolf-whistles. I see her mentor glare in the general direction of the person. Elia herself blushes as she shakes Caesar's hand.

"So, Elia, we all want to know how it feels to be married to your mentor. Do you think this is an advantage?" Caesar begins.

Elia glances up nervously at her mentor. "Well, I consider myself lucky I didn't have to say goodbye to all of District 4."

"Who was that girl who tried to volunteer for you?" Caesar asks.

"My sister," Elia explains. "Marit."

"And why did you try to stop her?" Caesar presses.

"Because she's twelve and she would've died," Elia answers.

Caesar Jr. frowns and stares at Elia. There is silence until he rudely asks, "are you pregnant?"

Elia's mentor's face is contorted with rage, and Elia looks extremely flustered. Caesar glares at his son, but the audience laughs. I wonder why the find such a personal and insolent question funny. Eventually, the laughter dies down, but Elia's face is still red.

"N- no!" she stammers at last.

_She's lying. _That much is obvious from her red face, her stutter, and suddenly nervously rubbing her hands together.

The buzzer rings, and Elia hurries from the stage. Moss is also wearing mostly black, but his shirt is white instead. It seems like a nice contrast compared to all the black most male tributes have been wearing.

"So, excuse me if I'm wrong, but you haven't exercised as much as your friends in the other districts," Caesar starts, but Moss interrupts.

"They're not my friends," Moss assures him.

"But you haven't had as much exercise, right?" Caesar presses. Moss nods. "So is there a specific reason you volunteered?"

"To feed my family," Moss admits. "I did it to help my little brother, Maris, and to help my dad."

My eyes narrow as I examine the non-Career. Honestly, the sympathy acts were getting a bit tiresome. At least he isn't flirting, though. I don't think I can go through another round of blowing kisses or French. The crowd likes sad tributes, though, and they give another collective gasp of "awww."

I am a bit jealous of him, though. He has a loving and caring family, and they probably cared when he volunteered. They probably hope he comes back alive and aren't praying he will be viciously gutted by his own district partner. I can picture Jaime walking into the Justice Building with that evil smirk on his lips and completely ignoring me.

Not for the first time, I feel an overwhelming sense of betrayal. I should've predicted that in the end, Jaime was as selfish as he had always appeared to be. He'd stand by me until we got in trouble, and then he'd save himself and let me sink. I remember when we decided to skip school (Jaime's idea), and Dad had caught us before we had even gotten out of school. We made the mistake of talking about it in the car on the way to school. Dad was driving.

_Dad stared at us, looking for an explanation. I looked at my shoes, and even Jaime seemed a little embarrassed. We heard the bell, and we knew we would be late if we didn't do some fast talking._

"_It was Hyre's idea!" Jaime exclaimed at last._

_I glared at Jaime. Of course, Dad had believed him without asking me if it was true. He turned to me and he demanded an answer without even asking for one. I bit my lip as I tried to think of a reasonable explanation._

"_We wanted to do extra training," I lied._

_Dad sneered. "You'd never be able to win the Hunger Games with or without training. Were you planning on volunteering?"_

_I shook my head, lying again._

"_Good. You'd probably die in the Bloodbath," Dad informed me. "Now get to class. Now."_

_Jaime and I turned away and ran to the classroom on the other side of the building. We made it just as the second bell rang. We sat down next to each other, and when the teacher's back was turned, Jaime leaned over._

"_That was close!" he exclaimed, his eyes glowing with excitement._

"_Why did you say it was my idea?" I demanded._

_Jaime shrugged. "I didn't think he'd believe me. You never do anything fun."_

"_I stay out of trouble," I argued. "But you seem intent on dragging me into it."_

_Jaime smiled impishly. "And I'll keep on doing it as long as I manage to stay out of trouble."_

I shake away the memory as Moss' interview ends and the girl from District 5 gets up. I can feel tears forming in my eyes, and I'm not sure why. Remembering all my fun times with Jaime has stirred mixed emotions of treachery and yearning. Onyx looks over at me, concern flashing over her hazel eyes.

"Are you okay?" she mouths.

I nod, but I feel Onyx squeeze my hand comfortingly. I look up at her. It is odd to see her give such a comforting gesture; she's usually so sexy and flirty and vicious. It's nice, though, to have someone on my side for once.


	32. Interviews Part Two

****A/N: ****Second out of three, these are the district five to district eight interviews. Starting with the girl from district five, Aella Dekas, all the way along to Maia's district partner Oak Loaker. Whoo! GO OAK! WE LOVE YOU! ^_^ Anyway, the devious mind who has been given the job to present Maia and a couple of other insignificant tributes is... Phoenix Refrain (D7 Male)! Go and read on then!

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><p><strong>Phoenix RefrainNina's A/N: **Hope you enjoy the amazing arena, and I hope that Aspen and I are lucky enough to get to tell you more of the story that's already been worked out to happen in the arena.

The poem featured is the banned song of District 7 that I wrote for and is elaborated on in my story "The Phoenix: Burning Day."

D7= 3

Thank you for all the amazing reviews! It's been a privilege and a pleasure to be able to write with or may I say against such talented authors. XD Alliances have been formed, the games are drawing near-May the odds be _ever in your favor!_

Much love darlings!

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><p><strong>Interviews Part 2 (D5 - D8) - AspenAcauauauaricaia Chekov (okay, so I can't spell his name! ;p)**

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><p><em>"...When you die, the energy that kept you alive filters into the people you loved. Did you know that? It's like a fire you've tended all your life, and the sparks are all scattered into the wind... That's why we survive as long as we do, because the people who loved us keep us going." <em>

_―Kevin Brockmeier,The View from the Seventh Layer_

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><p>I can't believe that I'm here still. It's surreal, sitting on this stage before an audience of strangely dressed people. They look at me as if I'm the strange one—unaltered, backwards, and unlearned in there eyes. Their skin is so bright and unusual it takes me a moment not to instantly think that their skin is conveying some sickness or disease they have. Their bright plumage, their tight dresses…The absolute extravagance of their looks, one ring from any of their's fingers could feed my family for a year. And yet, we are the entertainment—untainted by their gold but forced to fight for their pleasure.<p>

Can't they see what they're doing to us? Do they care? Or are they so warped and changed inside that nothing makes an impression on them anymore? Why don't they think of us as their children? Or do they even care for them?

I don't know. I'm afraid to find out, but there is some part of me that is sure that there is some good in them—somewhere. Maybe it's so deep down that they don't even know it themselves…maybe they'll see something in one of us this year. Maybe they'll come to their senses and stop this senseless killing. But even as I think it, I know they won't. Twenty-three of us will die here over the next days. Our blood will stain the ground crimson—by rights the pain of it should pour from their eyes like tears of blood. But they'll visit where we die, remember and enact it like it's noble deaths—not real.

But it is real. We are real, and soon we will be fading. And the one of us that survives…will it be really living?

If I come out of this, how many will I have killed? Will the blood wash off my hands? And if I don't make it through…how many will I kill for nothing?

And my brother, what of my brother? We've never been this far away from each other. We've always felt the same, experienced similar things—or at least things the other could understand. Though I'd never been in love, I knew what it was like because Araucaria loved Isabella. But how would that work now if I came out of these games? Would he understand what it had cost to come home to him and the rest of my family? Would we still be the same or would there forever be a divide between the brother and I that shared everything?

I had become him, absorbed him in my plans so he could not say no. If I had volunteered as myself…maybe he would have refused. But the shock, the anger, the hurt—all the feelings that I could feel that he felt were enough to let me go before he could think of pretending to be me. But now, he'd never be Araucaria again and I'd never be Aspen—in death or life.

Right now people were probably discovering that "Aspen" and Isabelle were having a baby together—or else they soon would. They'd be happy that Isabelle had found the other brother—the one who wouldn't be taken away. Glad to know that her child wouldn't be raised fatherless—they'd forget that she's supposedly defected to the other brother without their knowledge. Or maybe they never knew which of us she was dating anyways. Not that it mattered, a lot of people thought as twins we were interchangeable—but we weren't. We are two separate beings even if we are alike, and now no matter what happens we'll never be the same.

I shake the thoughts out of my head, I can't keep getting distracted. The commercial break is over, the girl from district five is giving her interview now.

"Hello Aella Dekas!" Caesar Flickerman Sr. greets in his oddly happy voice the cyan shades of his hair garishly bright as the light reflects on it. "What a beautiful name! What does it mean?"

For a moment the green eyes flicker down to her shoes, the waves of her hair falling forward over her shoulders. After a brief moment, she squares her shoulders and gives what I think is supposed to be a charming smile—it's really more half grimace. The lights show off her pale skin, and the freckles along her face. She's obviously uncomfortable in her pink tiered dress that hugs the lines of her body in a pleasing way. She's quite beautiful really, but uncomfortable with herself. "Whirlwind in Greek," she attempts another coy half-smile as she tosses her blonde curls over her shoulder. But there's something awkward in the way she does it, not like I've seen some of the girl's do at home. That's when it hits me, she doesn't know how to flirt—she's already playing the game for sponsors.

"Well let me tell you that's how long it took you to steal my heart! Am I right?" He looks to the audience who gives a relatively good clapping of approval before turning back. "So can you share with us what you plan to do in the games?" He smiles encouragingly at her.

"Well," she tilts her head and purses her lips, then reconsiders as it slides into a slight frown. "I don't think I should tell all my secrets Caesar," she touches his arm with the tips of her fingers as she lowers her lashes before jerking her arm away quickly and awkwardly. She's not comfortable with giving him a gesture like that.

"Be still my heart!" Caesar touches his hand to his chest and then fans it in front of him as if he the sheer heat of that moment was enough to make him hot. Her face colors up brightly as if in embarrassment.

Little Caesar cuts in, "So…is there anyone back home I should be jealous of?"

Again her face falters and she shifts awkwardly on her feet as she tugs down on the hem of her dress as if she wishes it were longer. "Maybe…" the blush glosses over her face until she looks positively bashful.

The buzzer sounds, "Thank you for your time Aella Dekas. It's been our pleasure to meet such a charming and seductive girl."

She sits down quickly, trying to keep smiling. It's easier now that she's done, she looks relieved as if she can actually breathe again.

"Claus Hendall," Caesar smiles at the boy and shakes his hand, but the boy seems a bit distracted. "So how is the Capitol treating you?" He starts off easily.

"Go-goo-good," Claus finally gets out.

"A lot different from home?" Claus nods at the question and I can see Caesar is trying to draw him out more. "Tell us about your family Claus," he tilts his head interestedly.

Claus hesitates and shifts, "We-well, I ha-have two friends, Gerall and Ryne." He stops and looks back up at Caesar nervously.

"But what about family?" He presses.

"I do-don't think I'm cl-close to them," he pauses and breathes in. "They—they—they—they didn't say good-goodbye."

"Maybe it was too painful for them?"

Claus shrugged his shoulders. "May-maybe they won't miss me. Too—too—too late now anyways."

Caesar steers him off in a different direction, "Well what are you going to do in the arena?"

"Run," he answers far more calmly. I'll run. I'll run and—and—and try to avoid the fights."

"Why?" Caesar asks and leans close as if it's a secret just between them—which is laughable.

"I. I. I. I—" Claus looks exasperated.

"Breathe deep," Caesar says as he puts a hand on the boy's shoulder.

Claus obeys and then starts again, "I—I…" He swallows hard, "I don't th-think I can kill anyone."

"Even if it was you or them?" Claus shakes his head. "I'm sure you'll do great when you're there. You want to survive don't you?"

Claus even seems to consider that, "Well, yes."

The buzzer dings.

Rena Sage takes the stage next as Caesar greets her. Her brown hair falls down around her shoulders, her liquid amber eyes looking up at Caesar and audience. Her eyes full of emotion glance around a little nervously. Her dress is a dark teal, the color that our mentor whispered to me is the exact shade the that surgeons use in the Capitol. It's supposed to show her off as a healer. The dress shimmers lightly, little amber jewels mixed in amongst the white ones. Each shift as she sways slightly on the spot makes the lights flicker over her dress so that it seems like her amber eyes are everywhere watching you.

"Glad to meet you, Rena." Caesar starts off.

"Please to meet you as well," her voice is stiff and measured. She seems focused, the line of her jaw set.

Caesar doesn't miss the iron walls that she's pulling up, but one question from him brings them falling down. "Tell us about your family, Rena."

There's silence as she stands there putting her hands together and for a moment she looks down at them before she looks back up at Caesar. It's evident that she doesn't want to—but she's been coached to. "I have six siblings," I can hear her voice break for a moment.

"Six?" Caesar puts his hand to his heart and the audience seems to sigh with him. "What about your mother and your father?"

It's like the audience is breatheless to hear her plight. Give them someone they can feel sorry for, though they should feel sorry already that they're sending us to our death. "My mother died…a patient infected her." There's the slightest quaver in her voice as her eyes look distant, as if she's seeing someone not there.

"And your father?"

She hesitates for a moment, the mask is going up again. "He misses her very much." Whatever she was on the verge of saying is gone.

"What did you tell them when you left? Were they worried?"

"Of course," her voice cuts a little too sharply. "I told them…I'll try to come home soon." Her eyes are hard, like glittering shiny jewels.

"Did you mean that?" Little Caesar asks as he transfixes his luminous eyes on her.

In a compassionate act, she leans down to him. Maybe she sees a sibling or something in this horrendous capitol child's inner being. "When you make a promise you keep it. And I promised." She smiles at him slightly as she leans back up.

The buzzer signals the end of her turn.

Relk Stein takes the stage, lumbering to the forefront. Everyone hates him, and that's saying something. I think it's possible that he's even more arrogant than the Careers which is no small feat. Even Caesar, who tries to bring out something good in everyone, is going to find it hard to find any redeeming quality in this boy.

He's not your typical tribute. He's…pudgy, would be the nicer word my sister Ashe would use for it. He's never wanted a day in his life I can't help but think, he'll be cannon fodder—he knows nothing of hunger. Caesar greets him, "Hello Relk Stein of District 6, pleasure to meet you!" He smiles brightly.

Relk gives off a simpering smile, "Yes, the pleasure is yours."

For a moment, Caesar pauses. "So tell me a little about yourself?"

Relk purses his thick lips in consideration, "Well, I'm the most popular boy in the district. Though I'm quite surprised that my friends didn't volunteer—probably didn't want to steal my glory of the games, but still it would have been the proper thing to do for a friend."

"I'm sorry," Caesar begins.

Relk cuts over him, "It's okay they'll be punished when I'm back home." He bounces on the balls of his feet for a moment, giving the impression of jello—a new dish I've experienced in the Capitol. The buttons of his coat are bulging, and his hair is greasy, stringy blonde. I'm surprised that his stylists didn't fix him up better, but he probably wouldn't have allowed them to.

"So what do you think of the Capitol so far?"

His piggy eyes, much to small for the rest of his face, light up. "It's okay, nothing like home. Though I do wish the food was as good at home. Nothing compares to the Capitol foods, though I think the lamb stew was a little heavy on plums." He motioned holding up his fingers as if he was showing a small measurement.

It's hard not to tune him out, as he rambles about home, friends, and other stuff. I keep wondering how his three minutes seem to go on for eternity and I highly doubt that anyone is really his friend. But I do try to listen at least, even though he doesn't say anything important. Because everyone deserves to have someone listen to them before they die, and despite how un-likeable he is—he doesn't deserve to be here.

Finally the buzzer ends our misery, and Relk Stein begrudgingly takes his seat away from the audience who he probably feels he's captivated.

Now it's Nella's turn.

I hadn't been able to look at her—really truly look at her for three days. She was too shy…too nervous to get the words out when I glared at her stonily. What was I supposed to do? She'd nearly ruined everything—put Araucaria, Ashe, Acacia, my father and mother in danger because she wrote about it in a book. Didn't she realize that there were some secrets that couldn't even be written down? That there were some things better forgotten than remembered?

And yet, it was my memories being triggered. Late at night, walking home from errands I'd seen her for the first time. Her head was down, the dark brown so dark it was almost black as she stood there surrounded by peacekeepers with her arms over her chest. They were heckling her, drunk on cheap liquor as they leered down at her. Even from where I stood I could see her shivering.

I'd wrapped my arm around her shoulder, the hazy eyes of the peacekeepers came up to meet me. "I've been looking for you," I say avoiding her name since I don't know it.

Her brown eyes warm and shiny like maple running from a tree look up into mine. "Sorry, Aspen" she mummers. I can feel her body shiver against mine.

She knows my name, but I don't know hers. "It's okay, we should…" I look directly at the peacekeepers, "go home. Thank you for watching out for her." I guide her around and head away from them, waiting until we're out of distance to let go of her. "Are you okay? Did they hurt you?"

She shakes her head, still hugging herself. She looks back up at me, "You don't remember me do you?"

"Sorry," I offer because I don't.

"I'm the furniture maker's daughter, Nella Birchalyn. I know you're sister." She gazes into my eyes looking for some sign of recognition.

"Ashe's friend," I place her. "It's late. Let me make sure you get home before your family gets worried." We walk in silence to her home.

When she sighs next to me, it jolts me from my memory and I turn to look at her. Her face tilted down, her bottom lip trembling like the girl being hassled by the peacekeeper's years ago. She's still the same girl, scared but trying her best to survive.

As she rises, her maple eyes look at me one more time—her lips parting in a smile now that she sees I'm meeting her eyes again. As she walks away, I touch her fingertips to let her know that I'm here—I'm still Aspen.

For a moment, her fingers clutch at mine before she slips away up to Caesar. Clear brown eyes that look at Caesar, full lips slightly parted as if already musing his words. "Welcome Jonella Birchalynn, District 7 tribute!"

"Call me Nella," she blushes as she talks to him, not used to the attention or coming out of her book for long.

"Nella, what do you think of Capitol life?" He asks.

She purses her lips, carefully considering her wording. "It's so bright and beautiful, everyone has been far too kind to us. It's a bit…overwhelming."

The audience cheers as she endears herself to them, but she blushes brighter. The form-fitting green dress hugs to her, a delicate trail of white flowers wrapped around it like ivy clinging to a tree. Her dark hair lays soft and full around her shoulders and down her back, the natural tones of her face conveying even more so the look of a nymph—a forest child captured for only a moment. Her head crowned with a ring of gardenia's, pale white less you touch them—a too harsh finger will turn them brown. It's clear the meaning, no one has touched her—she is still wild and free, sweet and unchanged forest child even if she's never worked a day in the forest in her life.

I don't understand why I can't take my eyes off of her now. But when I search in myself until people stop clapping, I discover I'm not mad anymore.

"I bet you get along with everyone, don't you?" He turns to the audience, "How could she not?" They applause again.

"I try to as best I can," she can't even look up at his eyes now.

"Do you have any friends or allies?" He asks.

Nella smiles, "I'd like to think I'd consider most of them my friends. But I knew Aspen before the games."

"Aspen?" Little Caesar jumps on her error as I keep myself completely still.

She looks at me shaken, sure that the tenous bridge connecting us together again has just been demolished. She looks back, "Sorry…Araucaria. Sometimes I mix their names up."

Before Caesar can ask for an explanation he has to bid her goodbye and it's my turn.

There are times when your mind is so full that you can think what feels like a thousand things in a minute. As the buzzer goes off that happens to me. I can feel the fear clench up in my stomach for a moment, I haven't exactly decided what to say.

Our mentor asked about my family, trying to find me an angle. I told her how my girlfriend was with my brother now. She told me to use that, play up the broken-hearted angle. But I refused. I wouldn't hurt Isabella, because I love her and I love him. And she's never been unfaithful to him even if it looks that way in the rest of the world's vision. Our mentor continues to work with me to come up with something, and finally we settle on sincere though she wishes I would change my mind. Heartbroken gets your more sponsors.

I haven't quite figured out what to say. I will die in these games most likely, it's not my memory that people will mourn—it's my brother, Araucaria who I'm pretending to be. I try to think of what he would say…of what he would feel. It's so easy, because his feelings _are_ mine. We've always felt the same. Even though I'm not entirely sure what's going to happen, I feel more confident—after all, I'm never alone. Araucaria has always been there for me and I can feel him there now, even if he's thousands of miles away—even if the next time he sees me is when I'm beyond seeing him.

As I pass by Nella, her eyes glance up into mine and I can see the pain there. She's worried she's hurt me, hurt Ashe who she loves like a sister. And I feel something akin to pain when I look into her eyes, my heart is pulsing against my ribcage for some reason. Our shoulders brush past, and she murmers sorry—a double meaning, encompassing all that has happened.

"Don't be," I whisper back while my shoulder tingles from where she's brushed by me for some odd reason. "We're okay."

I see myself on the screen, my clothes are similar in style to my reaping clothes—but more modern and less worn. Instead of just a shirt, pants, and suspenders I have a vest and coat, and I hat I heard them refer to as a "paperboy" hat. As I greet Caesar, I take my hat off as it's a sign of respect when women are present. I'm sure some of them are women—maybe even most even if I can't always tell.

When Caesar senior asks me about Aspen and Jonella's mistake, I respond. "I have a twin brother, we're the oldest. People are always confusing us for each other." I shrug my shoulders, smiling a little shyly. I've never liked being in front of a crowd.

"That must be very hard for you, to be away from your twin," Caesar says with a lot of sympathy, his hand resting on my shoulder.

"Not really," I say. It sounds odd, but it's true.

Caesar isn't quite sure what to say, so I continue before he can recover trying to express the emotions I'm feeling. "You see, I'm glad it's me. I'm glad he's not here, I'm glad that I'm the one that's come."

"Want the glory for yourself?" Caesar gives a winning smile to the audience.

People often think how romantic a notion it is to die for someone you love. But it's not, there's nothing romantic about it. It's not just some impulse that makes you risk your life on a whim. You don't just wake up and think, how can I prove my love? I know, I'll die for them—that'll do it.

That's stupid. That's not love, it's glory.

Dying for someone isn't romantic in feeling or notion—though it does come from love, it isn't a passing feeling. It's this knowledge that the world couldn't—shouldn't exist without that person. It's the knowledge that that person will live on even if they forget what you did for them—just knowing they're still there is enough. It doesn't ask, "Do you love me too?", "Will this prove to you how much I love you?", "I loved you more,", "I'm better than you", or any trivial thing like that.

It doesn't question anything, it says, "The world needs you. You have something left to give, something left to do."

But the walk to death isn't easy really. Sometimes it's instant, and you don't have to think about it anymore. It's over, not that that it would have changed your mind. But sometimes, you have to keep up the charade—you have to keep pretending and you get to remember exactly how much you love them, how much you'll miss them. It doesn't change your decision, and it doesn't make it harder but it makes it more painful.

For me that's the worse part of the Hunger Games. If they wanted to kill me why not do it quickly? But instead they'll make me live in an arena and tear my soul apart to kill others in a chance of living. Despite the odds, and the knowledge that my chances are slim—that doesn't mean I won't fight. I have a family so even if fighting isn't something I want to do for myself, I have to for them. But the hard part is that if I die, I'll die in this barren god-forsaken place denied the peaceful death of old age or even my family around my deathbed when I'm taken far too young because of accident or hunger.

And if I should live, if I should return…well there are rumors of what victors do. And if I have to do that I will, dying for my family is a price I would pay—selling my body and soul wouldn't cost that much more would it?

The one thing about living is that there will always be a divider between my brother and I. I'll have seen and felt and done things he never has. The brother to all my experiences will still be a reminder of who I once was, but we'll not be the same anymore.

"No," I say it quietly. "I'd just rather die than live a minute without him. I know he feels the same way. Maybe it's selfish that I'm glad it's me, because I know he wishes it was him. And coming here…I'm making him live through my worst fear—living without my brother. But I had a job to do, and I've done it—I saved him even if he doesn't forgive me. Now he has to do his job, take care of our family. Make sure that they're okay."

"You're not giving up are you Araucaria?" He asks me with some concern.

A song from home comes into my mind unbidden—a song banned in our district. Of course everyone knew it because of that though. A tribute who died in the second games wrote it and words spread like wild fire until we were punished for spreading it—and somehow it survived. A song born of despair, of misery, of a promise…

_I'll come back to you_

_My promise rings true_

_This isn't how it was meant to be_

_Not in a box to bury me_

_The day they came_

_Who'd believe they call my name?_

_A token, a lock of your hair_

_Something of you, to take with me there_

_I'll come back to you_

_My promise rings true_

_This isn't how it was meant to be_

_Not in a box to bury me_

_Eyes to the sky_

_Life flashing by_

_Scenes of "could have been"_

_But all dreams must end_

_I kept my promise true_

_I'll come back to you_

_This isn't how it was meant to be_

_Not in a box to bury me_.

I come back to the present when Caesar asks me again, "You're not giving up are you Araucaria?"

Something is swelling in my chest. I'm not sure what it is entirely. Fury at the games—hotblooded anger, fear, exasperation that I hadn't got to really live yet or love, the separation of family from me or maybe all of the above. I wanted desperately to live. I couldn't go into these games signing my own death—because then there was nothing I could do. I would do all I can to live, and make my peace with death so that if the end came I would know I had done everything I could to survive. "No, but I've made my peace if I die. If…faith was enough, if love of family was enough to bring me home…I'd be home already. There would be no one that can beat me. I won't give up, I'll fight to the end. But whatever happens—my family is going to be okay." I take a deep breathe and look Caesar straight in the eye, "I can't die."

"Can't die?" Little Caesar looks up at me kind of shocked.

"No, as long as I do my best even if my body perishes—I'll live on. My family is what makes me want to keep living, and when I die I will live on through them."

The buzzer sounds and I take my seat. My knees are shaking and I'm nervous. I feel a small hand on my leg, and I look to the side to see Nella there looking at me slightly blushing. She looks upset, and then I remember what she said—how she almost gave away who I really was. But I'm not mad, I can't be mad when we're about to die tomorrow. So I take her hand in mine and give it a squeeze. It's like saying, it's okay. There's nothing to forgive. Not now, not ever, no matter what happens in the arena.

As much as my mind wants to stay there with her as her liquid eyes glance at me—we both know that we need to pay attention to those around us. Regretfully, I pull my eyes, not my hand, away from her.

Maia Spring walks onto the stage. Once again, I'm captivated by the way she walks. It's different from anyone I've ever seen before. There's a poised grace to her, like she's gliding more than walking—as if each step is in and of itself is a measured form of art rather than just a step to take her somewhere.

She stands there slightly poised in front of Caesar as if she's going to perform rather than question. Her shoulders are relaxed, her toes pointed, and her fingers touching in front her and linked together. Her black hair is down, and full—almost in a natural way. Blown back away from her face, but soft and luxurious in a kind of a wave—not curly but not quite straight. Her face is wiped smooth of emotion, a perfect mask for an audience. She must have been very malleable to her stylists, who've made her face paler and her eyes darker like there's a haunting look there. Her fingernails bear the same black flowers that encircle her white dress which flares out from her knees. The black sash around her waist shows how tiny and lithe she is, while her small but muscled legs stand elegantly poised with one foot pointed forward and one to the side. Then the word strikes me, ballet. Wasn't this girl involved in ballet or something like that?

Caesar smiles warmly at her, and she looks at him with earnest and clear eyes. "Welcome Maia Spring of District 8!" The applause is thunderous, though I don't know why—she's not even said anything yet.

She smiles gently, before Caesar launches into another question, "So I know it came as a great shock to you to be reaped. Someone with such talent as you. I saw you in the Capitol not long ago in your beautiful act. Tell me do you miss it?" Saw her in the Capitol? Enjoyed her act? What was he talking about?

"It's always my…pleasure to perform in the Capitol," she smiles as the crowd claps again. "And I'm sorry to be missing any engagements during my time in the arena. Of course I miss it, it's…important to me." Her lashes flutter closed for a moment before they open up.

I hear the whisper from a few seats over,Maia Spring is a Capitol performer—a gymnast. I can feel my heart sink a bit, I mean…she'll be a ringer then won't she? They're not going to let someone valuable and adored die are they?

Caesar smiles at her, "So we've all heard about your score. What went wrong Maia?"

A shadow of blush comes over face for a moment, "I'm not allowed to talk about it."

"Well, I don't see how _anyone_ could not enjoy your performance Maia. They obviously just aren't fans of yours," he adds knowingly looking at the crowd.

She drops her head as the audience show that they agree. They know her, somehow she's already more real to them than we are—she's more human. They don't ask her about her family though, they just ask about her performing and how she feels about it.

"Do you think your experiences will be beneficial to you?" Little Caesar asks with a coy smile.

"I hope so," she says. "I think my flexibility will definitely help." Her eyes go back down the line to Onyx from District 1 before going back to Caesar, "I think I'll do okay because of that. Just…" she hesitates, "Don't forget me, okay?"

"How could we forget you?" Caesar asks right as the buzzer goes off again.

Oak Loaker steps forward sauntering up to where the Caesar stands. "Nice to meet you Oak Loaker from District Eight," he greets while shaking the boy's hand.

Oak seems calm though slightly disheveled. His suit while immaculate was in stark contrast to the tufts of hair that stuck up in odd directions. He attempts to smooth, and fails miserably, while he talks to Caesar. "Thank you."

"So tell me a little bit about yourself Oak," he prods gently.

"Well, what you see is what you get," Oak smiles as he motions to himself. "There's not really much to tell."

"There's always something to tell…" Caesar winks at the boy.

Oak leans forward conspiratorially, "That depends what you want to know…" For a moment, they both just bicker back and forth quickly—Oak making comebacks in a witty offhanded manner.

Nella's hand is warm in mine, and I find that I'm distracted from Oak and Caesar's back and forth talk. I find that I'm running my fingers along the back of her hand as we hold on to each other, our hands below where the audience can see. I bring my focus back toward the two of them with a jolt. I needed to pay attention—my life depends on it, and I can't distract her either.

Oak retorts, "If only you were a few years younger Caesar." And the crowd laughs at whatever he's just responded to.

"What about your family?" Caesar prompts.

"What about your family?" Oak shoots back. "I'd love to know more about the Flickermans."

"But today is your time in the spotlight, I wouldn't want to steal that from you Oak." He pats Oak on the shoulder with an open hand.

"We all know it's you in the spotlight. But if we must…I've two friends back home, a mother, sister, and father whom I'm sure miss me quite much. You'll be talking to some of them when I reach the final eight." There's a distinct sound like a hiss that seems to be coming somewhere from the career area.

And to no avail Caesar tries to get him to open up, but every turn and every angle is met with a deflecting witty remark from Oak until the buzzer sounds. We know essentially nothing about him other than he's good at self-deflection, if only that carried over into the arena….

Oak makes his way back to the chair as there's another commercial break. While the cameras are away, I shut my eyes wondering what my family must think back home. I know that Ashe and Acacia are probably crying or trying not to. I know that Ara is watching this, wondering what he's supposed to do if he loses me...wondering how he can live the rest of his life as a lie. And maybe he knows now that's he going to be a dad—maybe he understands why it's better this way. He has someone left to love him—a future that I've been denied by the Capitol, and by myself for refusing to live until I was free from the Reaping. Now I won't get that chance. What little living I have left to do will be here, where everything is decided.

I feel the pressure of her hand in mine, her breath is hot as she leans close to me. "Are you okay?" I open my eyes and look into the soft maple hue of hers that reminds me of home, of trees, of winter, and of everything I—_we_ have left behind.

And I realize for the first time that for me to go home, she has to die. Those maple eyes have to close forever if I'm to escape this place. This warmth that's radiating from where her hand is touching me is dangerous, because I've discovered that I feel something I've been denying myself. And she keeps looking at me, wondering what's wrong with me. But what am I suppose to say? I can't say what I'm thinking. I can't tell her, _"You can't die for me."_ That's what's more I don't want her to.


	33. Interviews Part Three

**A/N: **Four more chapters to go and this can get violent... heh heh heh! Erm... yes, so there's another interview chapter over here. This time it's the district nines to the district twelves, which I suppose is a good thing... if you actually _like_ any districts after eight. What can I say about the districts? The 74th hunger games (call me psychic)- district nine are bloodbaths, as is the girl from ten (the boy's that cripple) and sure district eleven and twelve are better, but that's just those hunger games and the way they roll. They're pretty unusual. what, with double the amount of victors and all. ;) Anyway, this last part of the interviews is brought to you by... Yelof530 (D11 Male). Have fun reading it! ^_^

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><p><strong>Yelof's AN:** What the hell am I going to rant about here? Hm, well, I'll start with saying thanks for taking the time to read this story as a whole and I respect all these people, and their odd ways, so much. To all my loved asshats out there, thank you especially for reading this. It means an incredible amount for you to be reading this. Now, to our dear friend Vaughn.

–Megan

P.S. Present tense writing will be the death of me.

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><p><strong>Interviews Part 3 (D9 - D12) - Vaughn Shumway, District Eleven Male by Yelof530<strong>

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><p><em>"I've developed a new philosophy...I only dread one day at a time."<em>

_ -Charlie Brown_

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><p>Lilly watches the stage with intense focus, trying to size up the competition. Vikus, our escort, had suggested she try acting all sweet and sugary for her interview angle. Not exactly sure how that will work. She'll most likely just blow it off and act…like Lilly. A tough girl with a certain appeal that you either love or you don't. Not even sure if I like it. Vikus isn't the best source of advice in most form. Most districts have at minimum one mentor. They understand their position, been in the tribute's shoes.<p>

Although, none of them were a lost cause like me.

Every day has been…hell. Mother wouldn't want me thinking that way, but it was true. I was delivered to hell in a hand basket, disguised in the form of a high speed train and hell as a glittering utopia of a Capitol. I'm surprised I'm not dead yet. It's been best to stay out of everyone's way and keep my head low. By the lack of acknowledgement I get when I look to any one, I believe my plan is working.

The boy from Eight makes his way off the stage, Nine stepping carefully up. On the stage, a cyan haired Caesar Flickerman Sr. sits leisurely in his chair. The younger Flickerman twisted about, becoming antsy with the interviews. All the words came in and out of focus. My feet wrap around the legs of my chair and I stare down at the floor. Why were the whoops of the crowd so loud? If they were just quiet, then the amplifiers wouldn't be necessary for hearing the tributes. All calm and collected. No need to work yourself up.

Breathe in, breathe out. It hasn't been so bad, honestly. Alright, that's a bit of a lie in itself. But the Games are helping me come out of my shell a little. Or shoving me deep into the darkest realms of it. I long to go home and crawl up on my bed with a book in my hands. To have my freckled face mother tuck me in and listen to me read a quote from a book. For my grandparents, my grandfather slipping a book beneath my pillow and winking towards me. A lot of my favorite memories involve books, don't they?

My eyes finally work the nerve to gaze upwards as the snuffling of tears echo out. I grab on tight to the sides of the chair as if I were to tumble over at any moment. The girl from Nine is crying some. The whole crowd begins wiping at their eyes sympathetically too. I swallow hard. We're both the younger tributes of the Games. There's at least one other thirteen year old. I only remember this because he ate Lilly's dress. Obviously not an outdoorsy kid since corn stalks are not edible. Only the desperate of District Eleven would eat the stalks. And by his…size, this particular individual wasn't going hungry. "Glutton: one who digs his grave with his teeth."

I focus all my attention onto the stage. It'd be better than trailing off and worrying down at my shoes. The option seemed appealing though…no, no, I'll watch. These are their stories being told, Vaughn. Their stories, the tributes. You'll never hear anything like this ever again.

"What's this?" little Caesar suddenly asks. The senior Flickerman's eyes narrow momentarily on his son but reclaims composure as the girl from Nine holds up her necklace.

"This?" she inquires. Little Caesar nods. "My token for the Games. It was my friend Riley's, her mother's actually." The girl's voice becomes softer than before, descending to a whisper.

"She's my best friend. It even does," her hand slides to the side of it, "this."

The soft tinkle of music comes out in a warble out first. But as people quiet, I find myself easing up in my chair to listen. The girl's young voice sings. It reminds me of when my mother used to sing me a lullaby before I went to sleep when I was younger.

"_The darkness holds all sorts of monsters and creeps.__It's oh so pitch black, so dark and so deep.__But when you let your eyelids sink and slip into sleep…"_

The buzzer sounds but no one moves. They allow her to finish the last few lines before everyone is clapping. Lilly glances at me curiously from the corner of my eye, but shakes her head to turn back to the stage.

"Oh, goody, a depressing song from best friend's dead mother," a girl in a red dress three chairs down voices. The boy a district down frowns at her. "Milk the whole dead sister thing, the Capitol will have a field day, don't you think?" Is it odd how she doesn't ask the question to anyone specifically?

The back of the chair presses flat to my back. Or more like I'm sitting straight-up and the chair matches my stiff posture.

To think, I don't even know the District Nine girl's name. She probably doesn't know mine either.

She brushes by her district partner as she retakes her seat. This boy is definitely older, maybe by a couple of years. His clothes give off a feel of swagger, his hair slicked messily about in a "bad-boy" style. But he himself doesn't boast the same atmosphere. As he takes a seat, he turns his attention towards the Flickermans. His face remains calm, and he gave off the air of one with a level of maturity, experience.

"Well, what may your name be?" Caesar Sr. asks. He leans back coolly in his chair to match the casual style of the boy. The tribute frowns some at his manner.

"Ari. Ari Locus," he states. Caesar nodded, as if he already didn't know this. The boy, Ari, fiddles with his hands, running it through his hair.

"Ah, Ari," he smiles. "Well, we know volunteers are far and few in specific districts. Why then?"

Ari glances about. The tips of his fingers drum on the chair's sides in the same pattern, alternating from hand to hand.

"Life isn't exactly going well for me," he says. Both Caesar Sr. and Little Caesar lean forward at this. Little Caesar ensures to match the thoughtful resting of this fist under his chin of his father. The two oddly dressed people in such an overdone position cause a tiny little smile onto my face.

"Oh my," they say in unison. The crowd can't help but laugh at this. The reminder of my place brings me to shrink back down. Breathe, Vaughn. You'll make it through. You made it past the chariots. You made it through the training days. I only scored a three on training day though. I'm actually shocked by that alone. The string of the bows snapped against my forearm when I shot one. Swords fell heavy in my grip and no amount of effort could I lift it, let alone wield it properly. Why couldn't I be like Aragorn, at the very least a Bilbo or Frodo Baggins? I took to the plant area, even know I already knew a bunch from home (I may not go outside, but I do love my books). Lilly looked like he was whipping the District Four tribute's butt in training. They thought everyone had left to eat lunch but, yeah, no one tends to notice me when I'm around. Plus, being alone without someone, Lilly at least to sit with scared me. All the Careers (except Moss, he's actually decent, which I'm still trying to wrap my mind around with him being a Career and all) scare the living daylights out of me. Them, then the two from District Ten, and the boy from Six. Relk, that was it. He ate Lilly's dress, so there's no certain what he'll eat next if he's hungry enough in that arena.

The evening of the chariots, I crawled into bed and cried. I wanted Mother, Pa, and my grandparents. I wanted my old flickering side table lamp and the smell of wood and paper from an aging book. The fluffy fabric of those lavish beds strangled my cries and absorbed the tears. I wanted to go home. Was there any possible hope I'd win this? No. I'm kidding myself if I do. I don't even bother to ask the escort Vikus for advice and I'm positive Lilly wouldn't spend a moment on me. I'm doomed. What other outcome do I have than death?

"There's always another option." Well, yes, life. Wait, what?

My eyes swivel up at the words. The boy from Nine, Ari, sits up stiffly in his chair. His hands have calmed for the moment and instead rest in his lap. Mini Caesar glances to his father's interested features and he mimics them to the best of his abilities. _Imitation is the sincerest form of flattery_, I think. That and mockery.

Ari rises as his time is up. I discover my head has bowed and I to have taken my typical cowering position. My lips press together as the girl from Ten walks up.

"I see it's my turn," she smirks. Lilly snorts at the girl and the Ten girl's blue eyes fix themselves upon my partner. The daggers thrown between the two make me cringe. Boston glances from Lilly, to his partner, back to Lilly, then to me. He's could tear me limb from limb if he wanted to.

Aleah starts her interview and I can see she's rather…blunt. My attention wanders off to the other tributes. Other tributes. I being one of them.

"Twenty-four tributes, twenty-fourth year, any nerves?" Caesar Sr. asks. Aleah tucks her right foot behind the ankle of her left. She pulls off the bored look easily and she settles her gaze on the two Caesars.

"Yeah, I'm afraid of these idiots," she scoffs. "Especially the gingers." The girl from Four shuffles awkwardly in her seat. The boy from One actually grins proudly.

The crowd laughs at this. I suck in a breath at this sudden crash of sound.

Little Caesar cocks his head, confused. "What does she me-?"

"I see you're rather rough. Bet you've made some excellent competition," Caesar nudges in. At his touch, Aleah scowls. She glances back. Her eyes land on Lilly right beside me. Not being far off from her line of sight, I could feel the intensity behind it.

"Possibly. But it's not really competition, just annoying little bumps in the path." Lilly's teeth ground hard and I shied away from her clenched fists.

Her gaze casts along the line of tributes. None are giving her pleasant looks back.

The anxiety comes on again. Okay, comes on harder again. It's always there, swimming on the surface. On occasions, it racks together and my muscles tense up and my vision blurs. Taking in air becomes so hard. There are just so many people around me right now. I was trapped. This whole experience is making me even more neurotic than ever. Because, as I go through it all, I'm realizing, I'm never safe. Fear is constantly knotting my stomach in knots. I was never safe at home in the shadows of my room or in my own mother's arms. I'm sure as hell (this is what happens when you spend a week with Lilly) not safe here. We're never safe, any of us, ever. If anything, I have nothing to lose, not like everyone else. They have a drive. Me? I'm nothing.

"You okay?" Lilly asks bluntly, the muscles of her eyebrows scrutinizing together. She's less worried about me, more uncomfortable with my rapid breathing. Darn it, I'm hyperventilating again.

"Just fine," I say. But I'm not. None of us are fine. How can anything be fine? Lilly looks to the row of chairs set in a semi-circle. She smirks at Aella of District Five. The girl appears slightly annoyed. Not as livid as she has in the past. From her slouch and other mannerisms I've picked up, she doesn't exactly do dresses. Aella rolls her eyes. Moss picks up on this exchange, snickering.

I glance to their fourth ally. He's eighteen, and from District Seven. His name, it starts with an A but I'm unsure how to pronounce it. The alliance is strong, strong tributes. I feel sort of nosy for knowing all this but I picked up on it. You read so many books; you predict those plotlines before the author reveals it. Hence a sixth sense for certain situations. Although, I can't guess everything. I trusted Snape the whole time, but whoa, didn't expect him to kill…

Sorry, where was I? Snape, books, writing…District Seven. Okay, here I go. My eyes drift to the girl sitting beside him, the Seven guy. Something about her caught my eye. The something, as you could probably guess, was that notebook she carried. I wanted to just take a peek in it, to see those words. Sure, Grandmother gave me a notebook of my own. But I honestly feel too afraid to write my thoughts down. Words speak the truth and putting them on paper will bring this nightmare into an even harsher reality. This girl, I'm pretty decent with remembering names but hers kept slipping, she always has that notebook. The inner bookworm of me was pining to read it. If a tribute ever published a book about the Games, I'd definitely read it. Being able to connect to a book, why else would you read one?

The District Seven girl's hair falls over her shoulder and she nudges it behind her ear to clear it from her eyes. As the buzzer for the girl from Ten sounds, her partner sidles up. Her thin neck raises her head up high and she and her partner don't even glance towards each other. I blink and vaguely remember her mentioning the dimwit she has to sit next to. I never would say such a thing to begin with, but if I had a district partner like him, I'd be especially twitchy. Okay, Lilly isn't far behind him on the intimidation factor. And by Lilly's fierce expression, the girl mentioned her strong dislikes of the other tributes as well.

Little Caesar scoots back as the large boy takes his seat. Unconsciously, I do too. Caesar Flickerman Sr. patted his son's knee but he seems ever-so-slightly nervous himself. Lilly becomes straighter in stance. I'm not sure if it's to show her lack of intimidation or urges to go up and get this done. Wait, no, neither of those. The seat separating her and Aleah is now unoccupied.

Dear Panem, this is going to end badly.

Lilly's patience decays as soon as Aleah flicks a lock of hair behind her shoulder. "Who do you think you are?"

"Aleah Armani. I also know what I'm doing, and that's living."

I glanced to the stage and noted the bulky boy. Boston. That's a pretty cool name.

"Anything in the Capitol interest you?" Little Caesar asks, slowly enunciating the word "interest".

"No," Boston says. Tall and as tan as Vikus, he was.

"What about your district partner? She certainly made a splash. How do you think she'll favor in the Hunger Games?" Caesar Sr. comes in with this time.

"I hope she dies," he states gruffly. Caesar barely smothers his cringe in time. Little Caesar cocks his head yet again. Then he grins.

"You got fight!" he laughs. A laughing L.C. brings a laughing Capitol audience. I probably would faint from a panic attack if not for the stress of listening to the argument beside me.

Aleah leans across the empty chair, her discontent plain as day. She speaks viciously in Lilly's face, "Watch yourself, Eleven."

"You watch _your_self," Lilly snarls back. I grab her shoulder to pull her back down but Lilly tears herself away.

"I believe we earn style points in insults if they're original," Aleah says quizzically. She sits back in her chair. Lilly's face has darkened to a complete thunderstorm. Stop the fighting, both of you….

"Get over yourself," Lilly glares. "We don't need your ego to over compensate for the crap in your life." We have no idea what's with this girl, but this obviously strikes a nerve. Aleah rolls her eyes. Whoa, not a good movement. Lilly is going to explode soon. Aleah seems as if she's jeering her on…

…oh. Snap.

I scrunch my eyebrows up as I come to this realization of Aleah trying to defuse everyone. And she certainly set off Lilly. Big time.

"Those are some big words, Eleven. Did your sister teach you them?" Ow, that's a low blow. Lilly slams to her feet. Mental alarms automatically start blaring in my head.

"Don't you _dare_ mention my sister," Lilly hisses through gritted teeth. Can't they just shut up and leave the dispute to the arena?

"You mean the dead one?" Lilly's hands are no longer hands, but vicious claws made for tearing across the face of her victims. I subconsciously pick up the buzzer of Boston's timer but I push the thought aside.

Lilly couldn't allow herself to blow up. I couldn't allow her to blow up. I've grown attached to Lilly, admittedly. She's the only human life form I hold any form of trust in at the moment. True, she'd probably slit my throat if it's her life or mine. Lilly has fight. She has an alliance. She has a chance.

Instead of sinking down in my chair, I'm rising up. The unusual pit of defiance flares up, like that split moment when I snapped at those boys on my way to the reaping.

"I'll have you know-"

"Shut it!" I shout at the two. All that emotion pent up in me, all the sick feelings and sadness and regret stirs together to fuel the spark of anger, all burning within two words.

My sudden use of voice brings their attention to snap to me. Cameras snap repeatedly and swing around to get a better shot. Boston stands with arms crossed, waiting to take his seat. What did I just do?

Lilly, still fuming, turns away from Aleah and marches up the steps to the stage. This will only end badly. For all of us.

I slide my jacket off my shoulders come and duck my head beneath the makeshift hood. Please, everyone, just stop watching. My head is completely hidden from sight. Knots tighten their wound up grip in my stomach and my chest constricts my lungs from allowing in air. What make it harder are the painful rapid thuds of my heart. It stabs at the surrounding tissue and ribcage. The cool satin lining of my coat cools my face some but it doesn't help.

"Looks like you and Ms. Armani have already gotten a rivalry going," Caesar says charmingly. I don't need to drop my covering to know he winked to Lilly, or that Lilly rolled her eyes in a steady glare.

"Good thing the flinchy one stopped them," Little Caesar adds. Heat equivalent to a blush works up into my cheeks. The warmth radiates off to my cozy surroundings. Go away, eyes, go away.

"Vaughn freaks out about everything," Lilly scoffs. The familiar sound of my name makes my heart rattle faster.

"I guess you two aren't working out an alliance?" Caesar Sr. asked. I peek up. Lilly won't look at me.

"No. I already worked that out, by the way. I need tributes on my side that stand a chance. Not a nerdy kid from an agriculture district who's afraid to even step outside."

I feel as if I should be offended. But instead I swallow it down. It's true.

"Looks like she doesn't hold certain loyalties," Aleah taunts. Don't cry, Vaughn. Crying would be a horrible alternative to this situation. I lower my jacket more. Lilly still isn't looking to me.

"What may have that little scuffle have been about?" Aleah, I can now see her past Boston as she leans forward, probably to ensure she hears this precisely. Her red dress flows by her legs and it reveals her bare back as it wraps around her shoulders in a bejeweled sash to cover the front.

"A stupid girl, that's what," Lilly snaps back. "She thinks she's better. The whole lot of them. Down to District One." Aleah smirks. Her plan is falling right in place. Lilly skipped right into those dark woods and she is now ensnared in the claws of the trees' roots and branches. They tore away at Lilly's exterior. The hag of the woods has won.

Caesar Flickerman nods in understanding. "District One? Why them?"

The girl's fists tighten up again. "District One killed my sister. I'm prepared to take her down. And everyone else who tries to get in my way. Me and the rest of the anti-Career Alliance are prepared to take them down." Lilly slams a foot down and she leans back in her chair, arms crossed over her chest.

The cameras momentarily scan across the face of the female District One tribute. Her expression is stiff, but I don't have a chance of reading it.

Caesar raises his eyebrows in interest. "Your sister? An Anti-Career Alliance? Tell us more." I wonder how Aleah knows about Lilly's sister. Lilly would have never mentioned it. She never even mentioned it to me or something about it around me. The latter of those is more likely.

"Chloe died in the Hunger Games," Lilly says softly. "She was murdered by a girl from District One. How could anyone kill a defenseless thirteen year old like that? I was eight, but seeing the knife fly into her still haunts me."

Murder makes it sound lethal, merciless. I do the math in my head real quick and try to think back to the Games when I was seven. Mother never allows me to watch it, but my grandparents think otherwise. I wet the bed for the next week after watching it. The girl from One didn't win that year so I guess she got what she deserved.

Lilly remains silent, probably reflecting and remembering. "And what about those Anti-Careers?" Little Caesar asks. "Are you guys based on dying or something?"

Lilly looks ready to deck him. "No, we're just a group together set on taking down Careers. We have a score to settle, that's all."

Her timer runs out and I sigh. That part is over. This means…

I grab the underneath of the chair. You know, this chair is really nice! The hardest waves of anxiety wash through me. Limbs shaking and breath shallow, I rock to my feet. The sounds and atmosphere constrict me. Black splotches overwhelmed the flashing lights around me.

I clench my fists and slowly rise to my feet. Then, step by step, I shuffle my feet forward. The brush of Lilly's yellow toned dress sent an overreacted flinch to my arm. My feet wobble up the steps. The thoughts of breathing and moving are oppressing. I can't. I seriously can't.

But I have to.

Gingerly, I place my behind on the seat set up on the stage. It's still warm from when Lilly sat here, and then Boston before her, then Aleah, and everyone up to this point. Little Caesar examines me with big peculiar eyes. I swear I'm going to pee myself.

Caesar Sr. grins kindly at me. "Good evening, young man," he says.

The splotches begin to meld together. The Caesars are swimming in my vision.

"Hi," I squeak. The rapid rise and fall of my chest is bringing a frown to the interviewers' faces.

"Is he going to explode?" Little Caesar asks nervously. Senior Caesar scoots his son towards him. His head is shaking no, but he appears uneasy either way. I tuck my knees up into me and wrap my arms around them.

"Nervous?" Caesar asks. Little Caesar reaches out to poke me but his father swats him away. "Let's start off by having you tell us your name?"

The alien faces waver. My hands find their usual grip beneath the chair. They're sweating heavily and my grip slides about. "Vaughn," I manage out. Caesar Sr. nods, seeing this won't be as terrible as he thought it would. He tilts his head questionably to me. I'm from District Eleven, only got a three as a training score, and was just talked down about by my vicious district partner. Where to begin?

"Vaughn, ah yes. Okay, this has been a question around a lot of my colleagues and the biggest fashion editors; for someone of your complexion, how are your eyes so blue?"

I blink these eyes at the Caesars. Queasiness took over my stomach. This overly rich food is coming back to haunt me.

"Are you going to take my eyes out?" I ask worriedly. Scenes of old horror and science fiction books blind my mind out for a moment and I feel my mouth clamp down in fear.

I attempt to focus through all the mayhem, all the clapping and cheering of random individuals. Caesar throws his head back in laughter. Little Caesar bends over with giggles.

The gesture of Caesar's head brings back something; something deep in my memory. For a moment, Caesar's outline transitions. His unusual hair tones to that of a natural color and the background around him is a day scene of the outdoors of Eleven. Instead of a cheery grin, it's a gruesome yelling snarl. A whip travels across my cheek and I collapse to the ground from the sting of it. I crumple the flower in my hands and scream for Mother.

The memory clears away after a second but my hand is still at my cheek. Everyone is laughing. Shut up, shut up, shut up….

I stick my head between my knees. My chest rises and falls. I can't breathe.

"Please, be quiet," I demand, but it's a whisper. Caesar cocks his head curiously at me.

"Are you okay, Vaughn?"

The world is compressing in on me. My limbs shake violently and I fight to piece words together. In a sudden torrent it bursts out of me. Caesar Flickerman reaches towards me.

"DON'T TOUCH ME!" I shriek. The man jerks back from my sudden outburst. Tears are streaming down my face. The words dissipate into sobs, mingled with uncontrollable screams.

My time may have not been up but I slamming my hands over my ears, I make a beeline to the stairs. There's some confusion. Where am I hoping to go? There is nowhere to run.

I continue weeping as some Peacekeepers guide me to my chair. "I just want to go home," I cry. "Please, I want to go home." One of them gives me a thin-lipped, unreadable expression. The other rolls their eyes.

Unceremoniously, Caesar Flickerman announces for the female of District Twelve to come onstage. The girl beside me awkwardly stands. Between the gaps of my fingers, I peek at Lilly. She's staring icily off into the distance. At least I probably took the attention off her vicious demeanor.

The girl onstage, she's rather pretty. Her dress isn't the most tasteful but she pulls it off easily.

"-and my brother, Quincy," the girl is explaining with ease. It was as if my eruption was nothing, and she wouldn't allow it to break the flow.

"You must love them a lot, Tara," Little Caesar says. He grins, proud at his ease of words.

Tara smiles softly. "Yes. I do." A faraway glaze glistens in her eyes. It makes me miss my old family and more tears force their way up.

"How do you think they'd like the Capitol?" Caesar Flickerman Sr. asks. Tara chuckles under her breath, as if this brought on an old memory. It most likely did.

"Rose would definitely love the makeup," she laughs. "And the fashion."

Little Caesar leans in, speaking in a low voice. "Is it true about how you support your family? Why would someone pay to-?"

The girl's face has paled to a chalky white color. Caesar Sr. grips his son' shoulder and sits him back down in his chair. He is usually all for prying into the lives of the tributes, but this subject matter makes him uneasy with his son.

"And before you time is up; why do you think you can win?"

Tara doesn't even need to think about it. "Me and my family, we're strong, we're made of steel. We're invincible."

The crowd laughs, a gesture that seems out of place. Tara rises and sits beside me again. As she passes her partner, he gazes at her curiously. She darts her eyes away from him and focuses ahead.

Only when he starts does she release the breath she's been holding in. Her outline is blurrier than I realize and I wipe uselessly at tears.

"Yes we are, Prince Quince," she whispers.

I blink up at the dark haired boy now on the stage. He blows a long breath of air out as he calms, facing Caesar.

"Clude, right?" Caesar asks with a charming, purposefully uncertain, squint in his eyes. The boy nods silently. "Capitol must be overwhelming, huh?"

The boy shrugs. "It's…different." He isn't as much of a natural as his partner was.

"Oh really?" Little Caesar puts in. The Capitol citizens giggle at his adorable voice.

Clude nods again. "It's nice. There're some comfy beds. I just keep thinking of home."

Caesar nudges Clude in the ribs. "Any lucky girl waiting for her special Victor?" He wrinkles his nose awkwardly.

"Me? No. That's if you don't count my friend, Ty." The crowd awes and I watch the tribute's back tense. "And I don't think of him like that," he adds hurriedly.

He glances out at his district partner, Tara, then down the line of tributes. The swallow of saliva lodges in his throat and he breathes out again.

I look to the girl with the notebook again. She glances up and our gazes lock for a fraction of a second. I'm almost tempted to wave and say "hi." But she's looking down to her notebook again, flicking through it. She wasn't even looking at me to begin with. Probably Lilly, and her eyes trailed by me.

"Hey, don't be nervous," Little Caesar giggles. Clude purses his lips.

"I'm honestly just trying not to shove my foot in my mouth," he admits. I sigh to myself. Too late for me. Shoving my foot in my mouth would have truly helped.

Caesar Sr. tilts his head. You can practically mimic all his mannerisms, he does them so often. Little Caesar bends over and grabs his foot, gnawing on it.

"Like this!" he mumbles through the fancy shoe. The crowd is cracking up and Clude can't help but smile too. The noise makes me duck beneath my coat again.

I'm going to die. I'm going to die.

_There's always another option._

I'm going to die.


	34. Final Evening in Capitol Part One

_**Hello my lovely, lovely readers. This is Phoenix Refrain here. (Nina)**_

_**Sorry there haven't been any updates in awhile. Snev has moved on to better get a grip on her life. We wish her all the best of luck! Mikki has handed off the story to me since she won't be able to be around.**_

_**We're going to be running things a little differently now. I was elected to run the story and my crew, zxskunkmuffinsxz (Alex is in control of this account), and Isabugg (Bells) are here to help. We'll be taking turns updating the story, replying to PM's and questions. We're running this rather as a democracy—as a family which is part of the big allure to Tears of Blood for me, and I hope for you.**_

_**Thank you for sticking with us and I hope that you enjoy and recommend our story to others. We work very hard to bring you a compelling and thoughtful story. There are only two chapters until the bloodbath.**_

_**You're not prepared for what we have in store for you. XD**_

_**Without further do, we bring you Nella Birchalynn of District 7 written by the lovely Penmysword.**_

_**Make sure to leave her and all of our authors some love about their amazing chapters!**_

_**-Nina, Alex, Bells**_

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><p><strong>Final Evening in Capitol Part 1 - Nella <strong>Burchalyn (District 7 Female) by Penmysword<strong>**

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><p><em>"Happiness can be found, even in the darkest of times, if one only remembers to turn on the light."<em>

_~Harry Potter and the Prisoner of Azkabam, spoken by Albus Dumbledore (J.K. Rowling)_

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><p>Looking around me is definitely a strange sight to see. All 24 contenders of the 24th hunger games, are all lavishly dressed, and perfected to the bone by their stylists. I would never think blood-thirsty killing machines could ever come out of these people. Most sit ready and confident—or try to at least. Everyone's faces are masked by a cake of makeup plastered on them and their outfits all purposely hold them into an awkward posture, making it harder to read people's emotions. The obvious goal of all stylists is: To transform a tribute and make them different. Personally, I wonder if this same situation goes for the capitol people.<p>

Going out and doing my interview truly allowed me to see the plethora of variety of the strange looks people put upon themselves. I can't help but feeling that like the tributes, these procedures and piles of make-up are attempts at hiding something. Whether it is fear, or stupidity, I'm positive it's nothing close to regret, remorse or guilt, because if it were these games would not be so highly enjoyed.

It's easy to see the nervousness and distress behind the glare of each pair of eyes. To me, the eyes are the most interesting and admirable piece to a person. The eyes are similar to small windows as they're the looking glass to inside the person. It's like a weak spot, it can easily be permeated.

My eyes scan my fellow tributes. I can see Skye Azurite, her eyes wide trying to take in everything while drowning in curiosity. Onyx Marshall's eyes scan the room and are on alert, telling me she's determined and quite scary for that matter. I can read the emotions of every tribute clearly through the density of their eyes, except for Aspen.

I can never know what he's feeling, and I truly don't know why? He observantly sits next to me as I can't help but feel a wide range of anger towards myself. By writing in my stupid journal, people now know Aspen's secret and I've endangered his family. As well as accidently calling him Aspen in front of all of Panem didn't help either. I look beside me, seeing his agile and smoothly lined face angled downwards to the floor. I can't help but feel mad at myself again.

When I was younger, my dad always told me 'not to dwell on the past, but to live everyday forward as if it were your last.' It wasn't until I hit the age of 12 that I truly understood what he meant. Coincidently, age 12 was also the year of my first reaping. All of us tributes are all very diverse in many ways, but one thing we share in common is the fact that reality has truly bitch-slapped us all across the face.

The year of age 12 was consequently the year most memorable—though, not in a good way. That year brought on new waves of terror and tears. Emotionally and physically I was a wreck, and truthfully that wreck is still there, just hidden by layers of make-up and forced upon acting.

Since the age of 12 as young as I was, my mentality has been more mature than most others. Every piece of advice given to me I've deeply took into consideration, especially what my father had said. My notebook is not only a sanctuary, but it's a place where I can hold all of my dreams. When the realization of the games came into my life, I began making a list of everything I have ever wanted to do. Creating new dreams and waiting to enter them in my journal, can become repetitive. It can seem a bit tedious to the fact that everything I write in my notebook and the way I express myself in it, is how I truly want to be. Every dream it holds is everything I want to accomplish, everything I want to be—but I can't.

I was always taught that anger is the worst thing for you, so naturally I try to push the nagging animosity towards myself because of what I'd done to Aspen to the back of my mind, and open up my journal to my list.

_One: Own the family shop_

_Two: Be allowed to go wood-cutting with Cedar and Dad x_

_Three: Play a prank on Marina x_

_Four: Find a friend x_

_Five: Get past all of the reaping's_

_Six: Get married_

_Seven: Have kids_

_Eight: Have a lavish meal with capitol delicacies! x_

_Nine: Write something that I'd actually allow others to read._

_Ten: Be Happy_

Solemnly, I'd add to the list occasionally when something compelled me to do so. I've been able to cross off some things on my list, but not the things I wanted to most. The last point on my list, 'Be Happy' tugs at me slightly. Was I happy? What did happy really mean? I concluded, no I am not happy. How can I be when I'm stuck here? Forced to die. Not all may see it—especially the careers, but in reality we are all here to die. Even the victor who thinks that out of the arena, they are safe and sound. No, they are not. Killing kills your soul. It's fatal to the victim, and the murderer. I've learned from my stories that killing just creates more regret for you. The guilt and memories pile up and tear you to pieces. I've never seen it happen to a real person before, only through my stories have I experienced it, but how could you not feel that way when you see the murders pile on your shoulders, and you hold the blood that permanently stains your hands? These games have to have a bad effect on the victors, shouldn't it? Unless you're sick and ruthless only could they feel satisfied, but no one is that sick are they? This thought is broke by the applause of the capitol citizens sitting on the edge of their seats. I was wrong. There are many sick people like that. The entire crowd I stood in front of was all like that.

I try to lessen my anger again, and forget about the cruelty that seems so fictional, but is yet reality. My heart still aches for the tribute that will end up being the victor. I don't believe they will truly be happy. I look round me at each and every tribute, changing my opinion. Then again, maybe some of these ruthless careers deserve all the pain that goes along with murder.

Over the last couple of days, I've realized that I don't want to win these games. Especially if it means living with the guilt of killing. I shake my head while thinking to myself. I can't lie and say that I won't kill someone. Except, I'll be relieved of the guilt eventually when I die in the next few days. There is no doubt in my mind that I want to live, I do, and I really do. It's just that I don't deserve to as much as some of the others. Aspen needs to get back to his family, they need his support. Others who I have met also have family that need them. My family may love me, but they don't need me. Of course I will try to survive the best that I can and live as long as I can, but when it comes to the end I'd prefer to die in order to save someone who needs to get back. Although I know the pain that comes with being a victor, Aspen needs to get back to help his family, plus they'll help him through it. He's strong; he has Ashe, Acacia, and the real Araucaria to get him through everything.

With this new train of thought and the conclusion that I will die, I flip the page of my notebook and scribble the words: '_The List for the Games'_

I start to write down all the ideas that pop into my head that come with these games. Possibly some things that would make people think you're crazy? Yet, I write them down anyways. Everything that I want to do before I die, everything I want to accomplish in these games.

_One: Get through to a career_

_Two: Create a plan to kill_

_Three: Die peacefully_

_Four: Kill a career_

_Five: Be Happy_

It's a very blunt list, but these are the things I want. Forget 'Owning the family business' or anything as simple as that. Things have changed, except for one thing; I still want to be happy. On the thin scaffold paper it looks pathetic and weak considering I'm in a game to kill, but I believe I can find it. It's what I really want, something I've never experienced, but my mind is set towards it. I will be happy at least once before I die.

"And that concludes the interviews of the 24th Hunger Games" Senior Caesar's voice booms and echoes across the sea of people.

The cameras are off and everyone loses their poised looks. Complaining, groaning, or just merely talking, all are soon greeted by their capitol escorts, mentors or both.

My capitol escort Taygen is the first to run up to Aspen and I, while our mentor Dae slowly trails behind, her shiny heels, clicking as she walks by. Her black dress is skimpy and tight, only about an inch below her butt. She catches the attention of a few men, as she winks at them with her dark eyes padded with lots of eye shadow.

"Amazing you guys! Really tugged on the heart strings, now I have some meetings to attend before the arena, kiss-kiss." He blurts and rambles.

"Great job you guys! You did better than I expected." Dae comments.

"What, you didn't think we could win the crowd over?" Aspen lightly jokes.

"Nella," Dae turns to me. "You did amazing! How the hell did you do that? You're not that likeable and fun loving usually?"

I snicker. That's nice, on top of every emotion bottled up inside me, I have to add animosity for Dae.

"Thanks," I mutter sarcastically.

"I didn't mean it like that, oh, well come on, we better get in line for the elevator. " Dae says trying to change the topic.

The line was crowded. There were plenty tributes trying to get back up to their floors. As Dae and Aspen begin conversing about the interviews, I carefully drift away from them towards the stairs.

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><p>Tripping and falling I finally get to my room, my stupid dress creeping itself underneath my feet. In the bathroom, I unzip my long mossy green dress trailed with delicate white flowers. Beautiful, but annoying.<p>

Underneath my long extravagant dress is something that my stylist calls an underdress. The point of it, I don't understand? But it's a plain silver dress, strapless and short. I stay in the underdress, relieved to take of the fancy capitol dress.

Walking around the extravagant bathroom, I admire all of the beautiful and lavish ornate wood counters. It was beautiful like everything in the capitol—not including the people. I've only seen furniture with this much complexity once or twice in my life when my father would get orders from Capitol citizens. He'd curse and swear, while finishing it off saying things like "Those fucking Capitol people, all prissy and stupid. Why the hell should I be using my talent to serve them? Those no good, blood thirsty-" He would cut himself off when he realized I was listening. He never used such language, except for that time.

I faintly hover and gently run my fingers over the undefined textures, when my hands reach something rigid. A closet door with shudders. I find where the two meet, wriggle my fingers in between and open the closet, only to find, that it's not a closet. Instead of finding a shelf and some hangers is a door. Opening it, I'm emerged onto a small balcony with a lawn chair looking over the capitol city streets.

My jaw drops in awe of the beauty of the place. Ivy crawls up the sides of the walls, and the view below was surreal.

Standing tall was many capitol buildings mix-matched in an array of colours, and down below are the people that match these absurd buildings. There are parties in the streets and in the distance I can hear very strange and upbeat music –nothing you'd ever find in district 7, that's for sure.

The twinkling lights mesmerize me—sort of like how Aspens eyes do as well.

The memories of the week float back to me like they do every night, which I lay awake. I can't help but always end my memories in a shameful remorse that I let Aspen's secret slip here in there. I would never want anything to happen to him and his family—they don't deserve to suffer anymore.

Flipping through the pages of my journal, the repetition of the name 'Aspen' pops up often and continually and the name jumps off the page at me. I had described exactly everything that happened. How he switched places with his brother, his plans for his 'act', everything that he had trusted only me with, and I wrote it all down visible for everyone to see. I even had secrets that Ashe had told me, how she had stolen food once because she was temptingly hungry. All things that could get their family into trouble. How stupid was I?

Anger courses through me, forgetting everything my dad had ever told me. I was stupid. Everyone has called me wise and smart, and that I could see the deeper meaning of everything. But if I was wise, then how could I have made such foolish moves? Looking at my journal, no longer can I see a sanctuary; instead I saw all the possible pain and grief that could be caused by this journal. Images play through my mind mocking me, and as painful as they are, I can't stop them.

A single tear trails down my cheek, thinking of my family and Ashe being tortured. And without another thought, I chuck the journal over the wall to plummet to the depths of the unknown of the Capitol.

I give a short gasp as I watch it fall. That journal was half of me, it was like watching me, my family, my friends, and my entire life drift apart from me.

But before I can give a second thought, my journal has hurdled itself back over the balcony, landing beside my foot. My thoughts are rendered speechless, and looking for answers I peer down below at the capitol streets.

Whispering to myself my only words seem to be "What the-"

"Weird, I know," A faint voice says behind me.

I whip around, seeing my mentor Dae standing in the doorway.

Dae begins to walk closer to me, as I can hear the continuous _click_ of her heels get louder as she walks closer. She props her elbows against the balcony rail beside mine.

"I thought I'd find you here." her subtle voice says.

Without even recognition I find myself in an annoyed state, as my face which previously reflected all different emotions was now stone cold.

"How?" was my only response. I wasn't very good at striking up conversation, especially if I wasn't in the mood for it.

"I came up here, when I was in the games," She says, giving a slight afterwards huff.

She looked down below at the Capitol streets, as she tries to gather words together.

"I actually tried to throw myself off the roof." Saying this, a slight grin formed on her lips. It was the type of grin that one of your parents would give you when they were remembering 'The good old days'

Then Dae puffs out a small chuckle. I couldn't help keeping my mouth dropped in a perfect 'o' shape, as a response to bewilderment.

"As you can see," she continues

"It didn't work." I say, finishing her sentence for her. She nods in agreement.

My eyes are focused on the night sky above, starless, nothing like home.

"This stupid force-field, or whatever you want to call it, bounced me back up. I guess they figured that some tributes wouldn't want to play these games. And they were right." She says, her eyes gathering a bundle of tears.

It was no secret that I didn't like Dae. No one in our district truly did-except for those superficial guys who would fall for anything in a short skirt, and low top. But for once, I could see past her image. It was like she was peeling away a layer of pain each time she talked about her past. I could hear the sense of truth in her tone, as if it were a warning to me.

As if she was reading my mind, her words reflected my thoughts in my head.

"I know you don't like me." She says, looking down at her feet.

She takes a breath before looking back up at me, with her deep chocolate brown eyes, slightly jolting her head in order to flick her hair out of her face.

"I mean, no one really has since the games, since _they_ changed me." She said, putting extra emphasis on the word '_they_'

I didn't know what to say, which truly was a shock. Usually I always have an opinion, whether or not I actually say it. My response continued to be one without words, as I looked at her helplessly, not truly understanding what she was talking about.

Minutes passed through silence, as I saw a small tear or two escapes from Dae's eyes.

"What do you mean?" I finally ask

She wipes away the few tears that change my view on her from "Rich Slut" to a helpless and scared girl only a mere 4 years older than me.

"The games don't stop even when you're the last standing alive."

She looks at me with immense fear in her eyes, as the layer of tears covering her eye's shimmer.

"First came the nightmares, then the regrets, then the eternal torture. Only to be followed by the fact that you have to live like the person you once were in those games. Being asked over and over again, 'what victory was like?' And being forced to say 'Satisfying' with a smile. While having to keep up an image which in no way reflects who you really are."

The tears flood down her face, and as they wash away the dark eye makeup it was as if the tears also wash away my perception of how I thought of her.

Like me, everyone back in district 7 assumed she was a bitch, considering the fact that she was also a slut, most people would put two and two together without really knowing her. I could finally see past her. She was forced to keep up this image of being a revealing flirt by the capitol. They own her. She continues to be a marionette bounded to strings, controlling her every move. Was it like this for all victors?

I already perceived that winning came with costs, but not this many.

Dae begins to put herself back together, giving me the sense that she has other important things to do rather than just moping around.

She whispers a quiet 'Bye' while she heads for the door. She's about to walk out of the door when she turns slowly, capturing my gaze and looks deep into my eyes.

"It's better to die yourself and innocent, than someone you're not," She says, looking at her feet.

She takes a deep breath.

"Because the games, never truly end." Is her last string of words before she walks out of the door. Except her mask is back on, secured by the capitol, shutting her out to really truly living. The odds are not in her favor. But truly, when have they ever been in anyone's favor?

* * *

><p>"<em>Ashe!" I screamed.<em>

_She was bent over, a malicious peacekeeper over her shaken body. Hunched over I could hear her whimper in pain as the long strenuous whip would lace around her frail body and retreat back just to prepare for another hit. Her blood-curdling scream had me scream her name more, and louder, but she couldn't hear me._

I awake with a jolt, panting and sweat present on my brow.

_It was just a dream._ I tell myself.

These…dreams? I guess you could call them have been continually occupying my mind. Except, not only when I sleep. Occasionally during training or long meals. It appeared again in my private training session, and in the interviews. Why? I'm not sure.

"Knock-Knock" I heard Aspen say, entering the balcony.

Tiredly, I raise my head cautious with my words, afraid that Aspen is still a bit uneasy with me being the main factor of letting his secret out to Aleah, along with tipping off the rest of Panem. I still can't believe I did that.

Aspen enters and leans against the door frame of the entrance to the balcony.

"You did really well in the interviews. I didn't know you had it in you?" Aspen says in a hushed voice as if we were inside.

Truthfully, I didn't know I had it in me either. What my dad had said to me, "The pen is your sword" stuck with me, and Aspen and I used it to my advantage. Dae wasn't much help with my angle; she didn't know how to transform me into a likeable human being.

"_You've got to learn, because this is how it's going to be from now on!" She had yelled at me._

I now know what she had meant.

Since Dae, along with my Capitol escort were no help, Aspen had offered to help. He told me I was good at writing, therefore I should be good at acting. I didn't understand his persona, until he went into greater detail.

"_Be the character Nella!" He chanted over and over again._

And that was when I found my strength. Around the time when things between Aspen and I became uneasy, he started distancing himself away from me. So, I practised on my own in my bedroom for a couple of nights. I would change from snotty, to sweet, to arrogant, to odd, in front of my mirror and occasionally on Dae. When I went for my interview, they found me sweet and likeable, and I never would've been able to do this without the sincere help of Aspen.

Although my thoughts are erupting with a plethora of different emotions my words seem to come out so bland.

"Thanks," I whisper. It's all I can say, while still feeling enormous remorse.

I sit with my feet wedged underneath my bottom, as Aspen makes his way over to sit next to me on the end of the lawn chair.

"I'm not mad," he says sympathetically. "At least, not anymore." His delicate, smooth fingers come into contact with my face, and gently brush away the hair from my eyes. He stares deeply into them, and he gulps.

I still feel slightly uneasy. How could I do that to his family? I could easily just scratch it out of my journal now that I knew, but someone has already seen it. It's like it's been etched in permanently.

"You believe me right?" He asks, unsure of his gesture.

I give a slight nod, thinking that not saying 'yes' directly won't make it a lie.

My notebook, strewn on the balcony underneath my chair catches Aspen's attention and he reaches over to grab it. He holds it in his hands, tracing his fingers over the indents and the lines which created a tree as he took a seat beside me. His fingers drift over the cover when he looks into my eyes reassuringly as if he was asking for permission to open it. I don't say no, so he assumes it's alright as he begins to open my journal. He flips through the pages carefully scanning certain ones, while quickly floating his eyes over other ones. Truthfully I don't care what he reads anymore. Nothing in there was sacred. After the last couple days, it's been an open vault rather than a closed one.

"His fingers gently ran done the side of my right cheek bone, tingling my senses. His mournful eyes gazed into mine, capturing my gaze, and held it there. The depth of the intensity in his eyes could go on forever. They were so intense I couldn't read them. Was he elated? Worried? Scarred? I didn't know. There was really only this moment that we have ever, and could ever share together. And that wasn't forever. Even forever wouldn't be enough time to figure out what he was feeling. Distracted from his eyes, he gently placed his fingers underneath my chin, and pulled me towards his lips, catching me off guard. The feeling was sweet, but alien. Sort of like him." Aspen quotes for my journal.

"That was for a school project." I quickly shoot back, lying. It's not like I was ashamed of writing that, it was just a scene that two of my characters shared in one of my stories. It was just, awkward, I guess you could say.

Aspen looks down at the ground, his hands in loose fists on his knees, giving a slight chuckle.

"Is it strange that I'm 18 and never had my first kiss before?" Aspen asks me. He slightly leans his head to the right as his eyebrows burry underneath his hair, waiting for my response.

"No," I reply truthfully. "I haven't either, you're not alone." I continue.

His eyes dart to the ground as he tries to gather words. But in one swift act, Aspen moves a bit closer to me. His hands shake, and hesitantly he brings them up to my face. He places my journal into my hands, before leaning in, his soft lips pressing against mine.

I am completely stunned. It was only a second ago that we were mindlessly talking. But without hesitation I lean in, slightly deepening the kiss. Everything I was feeling in this one kiss made me think back to what I wrote in the journal. How my main character couldn't exactly tell what the male character was thinking at the time. As if that barrier in the eyes which I usually get from Aspen, stayed in a kiss. But in real life it was the exact opposite. Aspen's eyes pool with anticipation, yet look a smidge nervous, and I could see the subtle mourning for the days to come.

We pull away, when my cheeks instantly flush red. I felt odd. I can't exactly explain the situation, and my exact feelings, but I know I feel a bit embarrassed. Out of know where we began kissing. How does that happen?

I don't know what to do? What am I supposed to do? And before I know it, I begin helplessly giggling.

"What was that for?" I ask, with a brand new smile forming on my lips.

"Just thought I'd try it before I die?" Aspen smiles. He shrugs his shoulders, and gives a light chuckle a long with me.

* * *

><p>It's been a while through the night that we've just sat here, talked and joked around. Aspen reminds me of Ashe a bit. The same witty remarks and a similar humour, except, when I talk to him I get a small twinge of nervousness.<p>

"Okay, your turn," Aspen tells me.

Sharply, I reply back with an excellent dare which suddenly pops into my mind.

"I dare you, to jump off the balcony." I say, my chin high and arms crossed, positive he wouldn't do it.

"Are you crazy Nella? You're crazy right?" he jokingly asks.

"No I'm not crazy, look it's easy!" I say, nearing the edge of the balcony, my leg over one side of the railing, sitting on it unafraid. If I were to fall, I'd just easily come back up again. Come to think of it, that may be sort of fun? But what Aspen doesn't know, won't hurt him, but it will be funny.

"Holy crap Nella," Aspen's voice tingles with exasperation, and he is on his feet. "Are you crazy, get off of there?"

Aspen nears me and grabs my hand trying to pull me back over to make sure I'm secure. I don't budge so he grabs my waist and swings me around from off of the railing, as I try to swat his hands away, laughter erupts inside of me.

"Relax," I begin, as Aspen sets me down. "There's a force field-thingy down below."

Aspen looks over the edge of the balcony as if it were visible.

"Look," I say taking off my bracelet from the interviews, and dropping it over the balcony. Within seconds the jingling charm bracelet is bounced back up and over to our side of the balcony.

Aspen looks at it in astonishment.

"That is so cool." He says.

We settle ourselves down, and joke around a bit more. Just simply talking. Talking about things that I never really could with Ashe. Whether it's because I thought she wasn't mature enough to handle such in depth topics, or possibly because I just didn't want her innocence to leave her, I wanted to be like a big sister to her.

Aspen is settled onto the lawn chair, while I make myself comfy sitting on the rail of the balcony.

"Can I ask you something As-I mean Araucaria?" unconfidently I ask him while out of habit, slipping up with his name.

"Of course, anything." He replies back with a nod.

Hesitantly, I begin to form the right words together in my head in order to phrase the question properly, and finally the simplicity of the question is plain strait out and forward.

"Have you been getting, uh, bad dreams or something lately about torture and stuff…?" Awkwardly I ask.

His grin changes to a façade expression, hopefully meaning he understands what I'm talking about.

"You mean like about the games? Then, yeah, I have." He tells me, the words smoothly rolling off of his tongue.

Hesitantly, I shake my head left to right. So he doesn't get what I'm saying?

"No," I disagree with him. I brush the hair out of my face before continuing. "I mean like…" I stutter for a second, trying to grasp the right words, trying to explain what I've been feeling.

"I mean like, dreams or visions of torture…ones that suck the life right out of you?"

His left hand moves to his face and he scratches his chin.

"No, I don't think I have…" He replies back, still scouring his thoughts.

For a brief minute or two I explain them in greater detail. How sometimes they include people I know, other times just unknown people. I tell him about how it's been happening in mainly times of seclusion, when it's just me, not at free will to do my own things.

Reassuring himself he asks me one last time of exactly where and in what situations I have been feeling this.

Retracing the past few days, aloud I take notes of each time I've had one of these weird dreams.

"During the first meal in the Capitol," I say, along with thinking back to what dream it was I had.

I remember that time imagining myself at the feet of someone gasping for breath.

"Also while we were watching the reaping's."

I remember that time seeing my family chained to a cement wall while someone stood in front of them with a gun pointed towards them, as I was chained to the opposite side of the wall to watch them die.

"Once when I was in the shower, " I remember

The difference with this time was that no one I knew was in it. I remember being in a small square room with a bunch of people sitting scared and quiet, as each would take their turn to get a knife taken up to their tongue. It would trace the surface for a few seconds before gouging into the depths of the tongue, hearing blood curdling screams and crimson blood splattered everywhere.

"Then again during the private training session," I note.

It only lasted a mere couple of seconds but was intensely vivid. I felt enclosed and trapped, like I couldn't move, as if I was inside a box. Surrounding me in the box was a variety of swords and knives all catching my clothing and piercing my skin. I shudder at the thought.

"Then, while I was looking out into the crowd of people during the interviews…it was you being tortured." I shudder at the encounter.

It was very short and brief, and since he was in it I probably owed him the explanation of what happen. His eyes goggle in anticipation.

"The Capitol people they all…changed," I retell as the memory of it comes back to me. "They morphed, or something…into disturbing creatures, that gnawed on the tributes flesh."

His face distorts in grossness.

"You were killed. I screamed to make them stop…I told them you had to get back to Ashe and your family," I taek a gulp, and from this our conversation turns from playful to solemn. "But they wouldn't listen…" I trail on.

Aspens face was worrisome, but his mouth opened and he shook his finger.

"Nella…" He began, still in his train of thought. "Has it occurred to you that in those times you described, that you weren't writing?" He smiles

It hadn't occurred to me. I thought possibly these dreams or visions meant something more than what he was leading onto?

"I think writing is what keeps you sane." He chuckles

We continue to joke around for the rest of the night. I think it was the first time I've ever been able to act like this around someone: My real self.

"So what was school like for you back in 7?" Aspen asks me.

I laugh. Going to school, and getting good grades was the least of my problems now, and something that hasn't crossed my mind in the longest time. It feels like I was back home decades ago, not only a few days ago.

"Uh, I guess it was okay? I pretty much hung out with myself when Ashe wasn't there." I say answering his question.

"What, no boyfriend?" He chuckles.

"Ya right," I reply back. "Like I'd ever get someone to love me?" I roll my eyes with a smile present on my face and stifle a laugh.

"Oh come on. You're beautiful, people just don't get to know the real you!"

My eyes light up. Aspen thinks I'm beautiful? No one has ever said that. I blush, and my cheeks flush red, all I can get out is a quick 'thank you'.

Changing the topic, Aspen beginsn looking through my journal again.

"You know, you really are a good writer." Aspen compliments

He begins to flip the pages, smoothly until he abruptly comes to a stop, his eyebrows raised and his eyes wide. Then he turns it around, and points to a specific page murmuring "What's this?"

Of course out of all the pages, he finds the one of my list. Not the new one, but the old one from age 12.

"Oh," I mutter surprised. "That's just a list I made when I was twelve. Things that I wanted to accomplish before, you know…"

"Play a prank on Marina? Really? These were the things you wanted to accomplish most in life?"

I playfully hit him while giggling slightly, "Oh come on, I was twelve!"

He looks down at his feet while roughly brushing his fingers through his scruffy hair. He closes my journal, looking at it and handling it in his hands.

"It's your token, right?" He asks reassuringly.

I nod.

"What's yours?" I ask. I've been curious as to what each tribute's token is. Most are quite predictable, ones that you see every year like bracelets and necklaces, but there was this one girl I saw with a necklace chain attached to a small bottle with some sort of insect in it. I couldn't help but marvel at its originality, and how extremely out of place it seemed.

Aspen gives a half-hearted smile. "I don't have one," He bites his lip.

"Oh," is all I can say. My palms begin to get sweaty and I can't help but feel a bit sad for him. Most of the time everyone has a token, it was their only piece of home.

Aspen can tell I was beginning to feel an anchored guilt etch upon me. Lightening up the mood, he grins while chuckling slightly.

"Don't worry," He begins. He brushes his fingers through his hair, only bringing his fingers down to his cheek so it could lie upon his palm. "You're my little piece of home." I can't help but smile.

I still feel Aspen needs a token, something that he could hold onto during the hard times. Even if he was being serious that I was his piece of home, I wouldn't always be there for him to hold onto. I will die, and I've accepted that, and Aspen will win and go home to his family, I'll make sure of it.

Without hesitation, I swiftly pull at the right side of my pale green hair ribbon embedded with a few pearls and a couple gems, swiftly discarding it from my hair. My thick brown hair falls loosely over my shoulders while my dress crumples as I get off the railing, and make my way over to Aspen. That's when he looks up at me oddly, before taking the hair ribbon and tying it around Aspen's left wrist.

"I know it's barely anything, but I felt you should have a token, before th-" My words get cut off by Aspens quick rush of emotions, pressing themselves on my lips for a quick seconds.

"Thank you," He whispers, looking deep into my eyes never letting go of the gaze.

The rest of our time spent together, we talk, laugh, and smile. We talk about our dreams, and what we wanted most in the world. We chat about life back home, funny moments, and how life maybe could've been if we weren't picked for the games. It was relieving opening up to Aspen. I felt like weights were being lifted off my shoulders and I was finally the real me with someone.

"Aspen," I say. His gaze is prominent on me. My voice slightly cracks, nervous to say my true emotions, but I start with pouring out everything that I felt tonight.

"I'm not sure if it's because of the games, or what happened here, or if we just feel like we're in a rush and this is our way of expressing it…but, I think I lo-"

"What the heck are you guys still doing up? You have to get your beauty sleep, and you woke me up from mine!" My capitol escort interrupts. Great. That's just awesome.

"B-but" I begin to stutter.

"Get!" Our escort says. There is no use in fighting him.

I begin to walk off of the balcony and back into my room slightly disappointed, but it's only until about a minute after that Aspen comes waltzing back in.

"You forgot this." Aspen tells me, holding my journal up.

I try to catch his gaze and hold it there like we did so many times on the balcony only a few moments ago, but he doesn't. He looks at his feet awkwardly walking towards my dresser, and lays it on top. Then murmuring a quick 'bye' he swiftly walks out of the room, trailing down the hall way with his hands in his pockets. That's odd, is all I can think.

* * *

><p>I jot in my journal, everything that I feel, everything I wasn't sure if I should be feeling or not? I slide my finger over the side of the papers on my journal when I realize something's not right. That's when I realize a page folded over at the top right corner, and anxiously I flip to it.<p>

My eyes scan over the words. It's Aspen's writing. Nervously, I begin to read:

_'Maybe things could have been different. I denied myself a future until I knew I was past the reaping, I didn't want to lose something that I cared about. It was already painful enough caring for my family and what few friends I had-I wanted to make sure that I'd have a future, before I got attached to it. It's harder to let go when it's so close to being real. The problem was that I couldn't close myself off from you. '_

My breath stifles and just through one small, simple paragraph, I could already feel of all the pain that Aspen has had to go through with life. I bite my lip, and continue reading.

_'I think maybe...you're part of the future, I'm not allowed to have. And for the first time in my life, I wish I hadn't stopped myself from getting a glimpse of it before now. I thought you should know that. That maybe these words will bring you comfort at some point. Maybe in your stories, we can have the future I've just glimpsed in your eyes; felt on your lips. A future that we'll never have outside your pages._

_-A_

My head aches in unison with my heart. I understand where he's coming from, I know that it's hard for him—it just hurts me.

The line 'A future that we'll never have outside your pages.' tugs at my heart as I continue to read it over and over again. In a way I understand what he is saying. His mentality the same as Dae's. You can never truly live in this place that we now call our world. But even though Dae and Aspen see it as the end of the road, I see the journey that comes before.

They think it's over and there is nothing that can be done. Although they're right, that for many this is the end, but what they can't see is what's in between. I don't think anyone really can. The monstrosity of the end is too dark and deep that it blinds everyone to see what comes before it. For me it's not the end, and it shouldn't be for Aspen either. I can't change what he feels in his heart, but I still know that what I want is to be happy. I haven't quite felt that yet. Maybe I've caught a glimpse of it, but never have I been completely immersed in it. When I do, I'll make sure to welcome it with full pleasure then later open my arms wide and greet death when it knocks on my door, because I know that I truly have lived my life if I am happy.


	35. Final Evening in the Capitol Part Two

**Thanks for hanging with us! Next update will be Tuesday!**

**This chapter is written by me (Phoenix Refrain). She's not my tribute, but when Mikki was grounded Snev asked for a sub. I wrote this and she approved this as a conclusion for Mikki's story.**

**This happened a week or two before Snev left, before I was in charge. I considered not even posting it and just skipping it. But I was asked to post it. So here it is, my best imitation of Skye Azurite.**

**Sorry that Mikki /LLLW was not with us to write it instead.**

**Yes, Mikki was Live. Laugh. Love. Write**

* * *

><p><em>There is no easy walk to freedom anywhere, and many of us will have to pass through the valley of the shadow of death again and again before we reach the mountaintop of our desires.<em>

_Nelson Mandela_

* * *

><p>I don't understand what went wrong. I'm standing in my room and Jaloux's face is contorted oddly in front of me. I don't understand the expression entirely and when she asks, I blush. "Do you know why I'm here?" I shake my head lightly, the blonde curls of my hair bouncing as I push the cobalt curl behind my ear. She gives a huff, and gets in my face, "Do you even know what I'm feeling?" I shake my head again, taking a step back.<p>

"You stupid girl!" Her voice raises at me. I'm not used to that. I'm not use to having to tell what the sudden nuances of the face mean. I'm not used to being around other people. "Everyone's laughing at you!"

"Did I do something funny?" I ask smiling hesitantly as I go over in my mind what I could have done that would make everyone laugh. Everyone seemed like a lot of people.

"Not _with_ you. _At_ you," I just stare at her. "They think you're stupid. No, they know you're stupid. You're a joke! You got a five as your score! Do you know how shameful that is?" I shake my head again. "No one from District One has EVER gotten a score that low. Does that help your stupid brain to process?"

"Oh," I say softly, a bit shocked. "Matt said it was okay though. Roy said it'd be fine that I did good."

Her lips curls up at me, "They're lying. Smart you might not be, but unfortunately you're pretty."

I don't know why it's unfortunate that I'm pretty, "Thank you." I say it a bit more hesitantly.

Jaloux rolls her eyes at me. "Whatever you were doing in that basement for all those years—you should have been training." I start to interject, to let her know I did train but she continues on. "Do you know why they're being nice to you?" Something glints in her eyes as she steps in close to me again. I wrinkle my brow. People have to have a reason to be nice? "Because they feel sorry for you, because you're going to die. And if you win, well let's just say you'll wish you were still imprisoned in that basement of yours."

She turns on her heel, and I'm yelling after her. "What do you mean?" But she's gone and I'm alone. I pace the room anxiously, my fingers twirling the blue strand of hair over and over. I don't understand what she meant. If I won, Matt and Roy were going to put me in another basement? Why would they do that to me? I thought they liked me?

Jaloux said everyone knew I was stupid, but I wasn't. I was smart, I just…I didn't have the chance to be out and about like them…that didn't make me stupid. I needed to prove it, to let them see that I'm not stupid and that I can do just as well as anyone else. But what could I do?

Then it occurs to me, Jaloux said that Matt and Roy wanted to lock me in a basement. My parents had locked me in a basement because they feared losing me—because they loved me. Did that mean…Roy loved me? Or at least cared enough that he didn't want to lose me?

My eyes widen at the thought. But I don't want him to imprison me, I'm free now. I'm free and I don't want to go back. I don't think I could go back—not after all this. I've breathed free air, I've experienced tastes I'd been denied and enjoyed the lush and beautiful world that had threatened to overload my senses at first. I can't go back to that basement or any basement. I have to think like the career I trained to be. No one but myself can keep me safe. There's no prince coming to save me like fairytales I've heard. No knight in shining armor, there's just me—poor stupid me. But I'm not stupid. I'm better than they think, and freedom is dear. I'll buy it at any cost because I can't go back. I won't go back to how it was before.

I'm jolted from my thoughts by a knock on the door. I don't know how long it's been since I got lost in my mind. "Come in," I say meekly.

The door glides open, and the dim light of the dark room plays over his skin. The scars seem more flickering shadows of flames on his arm, like wisps of smoke. It reminds me faintly of the wisps of smoke that were left after his training session. I could still feel the acrid smell in my nostrils, and I find it kind of strange that it reminds me of him. The bright tones of his hair are still visible in the dim light, the amber of his eyes like a flickering flame. "Are you okay?" He crosses the room to me and sits beside me. "Why are you here in the dark?"

I see his eyebrows crease and I wonder why he wants to imprison me. All I know is that I can't give in to him. My hands touch the patchwork scars on his arms and trace a path up and down. He's been through fire, tested, played with it, gotten burned and he's still here. The heat had seared him, left it's mark. I wonder dimly if that's why he feels so warm like embers from a fire on a cold night. I feel that odd burn in my cheeks again. Why does everything have to keep coming back to fire with Roy? I guess it's just a part of who he is, somehow intricately tied to him in a way that will never change. I wonder if it's his fire that will warm me in the arena on cold nights if there are any.

"I didn't realize it was dark. That's all."

Roy smiles, a flash of white teeth in the dark. "That's what happens when there's no light, silly." I feel the heat rise in my chest, not like the heat in my cheeks—that had been pleasant, but this feeling was not. Was Jaloux really, truly right? Did even Roy underestimate me? Did he think that I was incapable of taking care of myself? Incapable of living outside of a basement in the cold, cruel world? Would it be he who killed me in the end so that I wasn't taken from him?

None of it made sense, nothing at all anymore. But I'm free…I can't go back. It doesn't really matter what's true and what's not, only that I have a chance at being free forever. "We'll stick together, you don't have to worry."

I steel my mind up. He can help me, he thinks I'm weak. I can use him. All I have to do is continue being exactly myself and let him think that I need him to survive. I just have to remember that he is the enemy, he will be what's in my way of freedom in the end. Even though a part of me hates to use him, because I care for him and the warmth he has and is giving me—I know he is my best chance of survival. Maybe he does care for me, but I can't care for him.

"We'll stick together," I echo as he pulls me to him. My head is cradled against his broad chest and I hear the steady beat of his heart. I wonder how many more beats are left for us, if we'll find peace before the end? But I'm a career—I'm not supposed to think that way. I have to remind myself that I'm not Skye Azurite anymore, I'm just blood and flesh and bone trying to stay all together. I can do this, so I hold on to Roy as his heart accelerates beneath the thin fabric of his shirt.

He whispers something in that language I don't understand. I do understand it's beautiful though, and I think I feel his lips brush my temple. A tingling sense of heat resides there for a moment, as I plan on exactly how long I can use him before his warmth will fade away in the arena.

Roy pulls away from me, and he tilts my chin to look up into his eyes. The amber hue seems to be shining brighter than before, and his hand moves from under my chin to the side of my face. I stare at him, not understanding what exactly he's doing. Just as I'm about to ask the door opens and he jumps away from me.

I turn my head to see Matt standing there, I haven't moved. "Hey Matt," I saw warmly. But something is wrong as I look back and forth between Roy and Matt. They don't either look happy about the other. That's when I remember what Jaloux said.

"I was just leaving," Roy says stiffly. He turns back at me, and searches my face for something. "See you on the other side. _Si seulement les choses pourraient être différentes_. " I want to ask him on the other side of what, but he's gone out the door and past Matt.

Matt looks uncomfortable, "I didn't mean to interrupt."

He's not looking at me at all. I feel my cheeks flush in concern, "Are you…mad at me?" I ask in confusion, crossing the room to get to him.

He stands still with his hand resting by his side. "No," he says softly. I have this confusing feeling that I should explain, but I don't know why. Roy was just saying goodbye to me. I reach out and touch his hand, and look up at him. His eyes come to meet mine. "You'll be careful right? You'll come back?"

The heat from his hand spreads through me and I feel more confidante then ever that I can do this. "You'll be waiting right?" I don't know what prompts me to say it or why I need to know so desperately. He nods his head and I feel the heat spread through my frame. "I'll come back then."


	36. Launch

**Here it is! The FINAL chapter before the bloodbath! Thanks for sticking with us, and get ready for the action to begin! Thank you for the marvelous support we've gotten in these...interesting times.**

**We're not going anywhere. **

**Updates will typically be on Tuesdays and Saturdays. We'll be having some...interesting one shots showing up soon. More details on that soon ^_^**

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><p><strong>booksandmusic97's <strong>**A/N: Finally! The last chapter before the Games. Aren't you all excited? Thank you to PumpkinGrin for switching chapters with me, because I could not have come up with this chapter without the switch.**

**Before the chapter begins, I'm going to bore you with a short lesson about Norse mythology. It's like Greek mythology, only less popular and depending on whom you are, less interesting. I chose to use a little bit of Norse mythology because of the Vikings. The Vikings were seafarers, so I thought the connection was interesting.**

**Aegir and Rán and are Norse deities of the sea. In Norse mythology, the gods of the sea (called Sækonungar) were protectors and patrons of sailors and explorers. The main sea god was Aegir, and Rán was his wife.**

**District 4…sea…Aegir… Rán...get it?**

**I thought it added a nice touch. What I imagine is that while there is no real religion in Panem, maybe some traces of mythology stuck as part of their vernacular, though the real meaning behind it is lost.**

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><p><em>To die and part is a less evil; but to part and live, there, there is the torment.<em>

_~George Lansdowne_

_~.*~.*~.*~_

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><p><strong>Elia Zervakos, District 4<strong>

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><p><em>I'm standing alone in the midst of a dark, piney forest. I am armed with nothing but a tiny, dull, silver dagger. Five shadowy figures slowly emerge from the woods, all wielding weapons a hundred times sharper than mine. One weapon is a spear with a sharp point and serrated sides meant for tearing skin. I swallow and desperately look for a place to run. Left? Right? Forward? Backward? Doesn't matter. I'm surrounded and I'll die either way.<em>

_It all happens so fast, so synchronized; I'm motionless as the five shadowy figures come towards me with their better weapons and fiercer urges to kill, each movement perfectly in rhythm with the movements of the other figures. I'm so distracted by the figures' movements that I almost don't see the smaller figure behind them. The figure is so tiny that I'm not surprised that my would-be assassins have completed neglected its presence. After spotting it, I immediately wish that I could be like those cloaked in the shadows and ignore it._

_There is an infant in the arena, crawling behind two of the cloaked killers. The baby stops crawling, turns to face me, and looks right at me. Everything around me just stops; the chill of the night air disappears, the dark figures with their weapons freeze in place, perhaps even my heart stops beating for a moment or two while the child's eyes lock with mine._

"_What are you doing here?" I mouth, more to myself than to the baby. And why is this child I've never seen before so familiar to me?_

_The infant tilts its head to the side and the blue-grey eyes continue to stare right through me. A deafening wail echoes throughout the forest as the baby opens its mouth and begins to scream, and just as suddenly as the attacked stopped, it continues at the baby's cries._

_Without any further concern for self-preservation, I run towards the diaper clad baby, determined to save it from these murderous monsters. Something about the baby draws me to it. I feel almost obligated to protect it from harm, almost as if it is my own baby .In fact, I'm certain that it is, but I can't explain how I know._

Keep running, keep running, _the voice in my head urges on._

_I'm compliant to the little voice's demands and increase my speed. Finally, I slip in between the two figures wielding swords and dive for the baby. It's in my arms, but the figures are ominously gesturing to me with their weaponry._

_"Elia," they whisper my name. The whispers slowly become more frequent as the volume gradually increases._

"_Go away!" I protest, standing up and starting to run again._

"_Baby," one whispers._

_The cringe-worthy whispers of the shadowy people fade, and a familiar warm voice takes their place._

"_Elia, wake up. Wake up, babe."_

My eyes pop open and I breathe a sigh of relief when I realize it was just a nightmare. _A damn scary one, though._

"Babe, you were thrashing around like hell. Did you have a bad dream?" Alex asks, running his fingers through my red hair.

I nod and adjust myself to where my head is on his bare chest.

"Do you want to talk about it?"

I shake my head and he doesn't press the issue further. I feel him slip his arms around my waist and pull me even closer. I smile and slip my fingers in between his one by one. He closes any sort of gap between us when his lips gently brush mine. There's nothing more comforting or safe to me than the feeling of his skin touching mine.

He brings his mouth to my ear and reminds me that it was just a bad dream and that I'll be okay and he'll bring me home safely. While his comforting and should ease my anxiety, it only makes it worse. Last night, I discovered something that he has the right to know too, but I can't bring myself to let him in on it. Being deceitful like this and withholding information from him when he is being so loving makes me feel like a horrible person.

_You_are _a horrible person, Elia. You really, truly are._I think at myself.

"We have a little more than thirty minutes before you need to be downstairs," he whispers sleepily.

"Thirty minutes?" I complain. I sit up and stare blankly at my lap. _But I have to tell him. I have to._

I have thirty minutes to gather the nerve to tell my husband what I discovered last night. My eyes dart unwillingly to my stomach as I think about it. The emotions hit me like an oncoming train. I am elated and angry at the same time. Elated because this is was we've always wanted. Angry because of the way it is juxtaposed with my current situation.

_Maybe it's better if I just don't tell him,_ I think, running a hand across my stomach. _It will only break his heart. There's no way he can adequately mentor Moss and I if he has this on his mind. There's just no way. Why bother telling him, anyway? It's not like anyone will even know in the arena._

"You seem distracted," he says, cupping my face in his hands. "What is it?"

"Nothing," I lie with a bite to my voice.

"Exactly how stupid do you think I am?" He asks, furrowing his brow.

"I never implied that, Alessandro." I say coolly.

He glares at the use of his full name and starts to say something, but I beat him to it.

"The Games. That's all."

"Right, and you _really_think I'm going to buy that answer?" Alex retorts.

The irate tone in his voice almost startles me into confessing it to him. I swallow and stare at my legs as if there were suddenly something very interesting about them as I wrack my brains for a decent response. I don't want to fight with him. Not right now. Not on possibly the last morning we will spend together.

The right thing to do would be to just tell him. Tell him about my- our- little secret. But sometimes, doing the right thing isn't beneficial to anybody, especially not in this situation. So I lie to him again.

"Of course I do. It's the truth," I say dismissively, stepping out of bed and getting dressed.

He scoffs at me as he slips out of bed and grabs his shirt off of the floor. "I can't believe you're actually lying to me this morning."

The smallest potion of the inner Elia tells me to pick another fight with him and to not give in to his most likely insincere apology. The majority of me, though, knows that his apology is sincere. I let the angry part of me win as I send accusations his way.

"But you've been lying to me too Alex," I say darkly.

"About what, Elia? What have I been lying to you about?" He snaps back, rolling his eyes.

"You know full well!" I snap at him. _The victor sex trade._

A part of me demands that I hound him about the sex trade further, but I don't. Alex ignores my last comment, and in a way, I'm quite grateful. Until he snaps at me again.

"Aegir Almighty, you just love making ridiculous accusations and picking stupid fights, don't you?"

"You're being such an ass!" I shout back. "Here you are on the morning of the Games accusing _me_of lying to you when I'm sure you've lied as well. You are a hypocrite, Alex."

"I'm the hypocrite? _I'm_the hypocrite? My God." He shakes his head and laughs mirthlessly as he crosses to the other side of the room. "I'm not even going to bother anymore."

In an effort to keep from sobbing in front of him, I keep my head down and play with my hair. However, not surprisingly, it doesn't help. The first tear leaves a shiny wet path down my cheek and a hundred more are quick to follow. Soon enough, I'm sniffling and my crying is quite noticeable. I pick up a shirt from the drawers and try to silence my crying with it, but it is to no avail. The shirt only muffles the sound of my sobbing.

I hear his footsteps on the carpet before I feel the hand on my shoulder. "Hey,"

I reach up and slap his hand away and mutter a command for him to go away, but he doesn't. He instead pulls me into a hug and rests his chin on my shoulder. "I'm so sorry,"

"What do you want," I sigh. I'm so mad at him right now, I don't want to be within a ten mile radius of him, much less wrapped in his arms.

He pulls me even closer and whispers another apology into my ear. "I'm sorry, love. I don't want us to fight. Not now. I'm sorry. You know I hate being the reason you cry,"

Before I can say anything back to him, he wipes a tear away with his sleeve and kisses my forehead. "Please forgive me? "

I'm still mad at him. The urge to turn around and punch him in the face is getting more and more difficult to ignore with each passing second, but when he pulls away from me and takes a few steps back, the anger begins to fade.

_Rán Almighty. I have to tell him, don't I?_

"Babe?" I say softly, my shaky voice barely above a whisper.

"What is it?" He whispers back.

"There's something you should know," I say tentatively. I take a deep breath and blink back the tears threatening to fall. "Alex I-"

A series of loud, impatient knocks at the door interrupt me. A short pause precedes the heavily accented voice of Eli Montgomery. "You two had better hurry up and put your clothes back on. I don't want to get blamed for having a tribute late to the launch when she was shackin' it up with her mentor!"

Never in my life have I had such conflicting feelings for someone I barely knew. On one hand, I want to thank Eli a million times over for unwittingly stopping me from telling the truth. On the other hand, I want to strangle him. The nerve that took me so long to gather left the moment Eli knocked on the door, and the probability of my being able to find it again is poor to nonexistent.

Knock, knock! "Hurry up! Ten minutes!"

I try to slip out of Alex's arms and head for the door, but he grabs my hand to stop me. "Elia, wait."

"Yeah?"

"What did you need to tell me?" His tender voice does nothing to ease my feelings of guilt. Alex's blue eyes remain locked on mine, awaiting my response.

"Nothing," I lie, my eyes darting away from his.

"Elia, love. I asked your stylist to get you ready for the arena quickly so I can try to sneak in five more minutes with you, but I can't guarantee that. If there's anything you need to say, anything at all, no matter how trivial you think it is I want you to say it."

When his voice breaks at the end, I almost lose it. He's so loving, so patient, and so wonderful. He's always been that way, even when we were kids. Lying to him of all people just feels wrong, very wrong. But still, I am silent, too afraid to speak.

"Elia please? If there's something you're not telling me and I need to know what it is. I implore you; tell me?"

I tangle my fingers in his obsidian black hair and kiss him. "You have to promise me something first."

"Anything."

"If I tell you this and I don't make it out of the arena, you have to promise me you won't do anything stupid." _Like kill yourself._

"I promise," he says, pressing his forehead against mine.

With a heavy sigh, I look down at my feet and just tell him the truth. "I'm pregnant, Alex."

At first, he reacts as he should, by grinning like mad as he struggles to form words. We'd been trying to have a baby since the day we got married, but had decided to stop trying about a week and a half ago. For a second or two, the Games are non-existent in his mind as his mind focuses on our baby. But within seconds, his eyes meet mine and immediately, I regret telling him the truth. All emotion quickly leaves his face and his arms slip from around my waist. He has to use the wall to steady himself so he won't fall. Devastation is written all over his face. His voice is distant and emotionless when he asks me how long I've known.

"Since last night. Immediately before the interviews," I answer.

I am prepared to be on the receiving end of his anger- surely he'll be upset? Alex is scary when he is angry, albeit non-violent. Even so, it is never fun to witness him shouting at someone, much less to be the target of his rage.

"Please say something?" I whisper, taking his hands, rough from years of working the fishing ships in mine.

"On estimate, how far along are you?"

"Three, maybe four weeks. Not much. Why?"

"You have to be further along than that. We didn't-" He trails off.

"Babe, we did. Remember Lucy's thirteenth birthday?"

Alex rolls his eyes. "Yes, of course. We went to my parents' for dinner, came home, then we…we-" He gulps and nods his head. "You're right. That was about three and a half weeks ago."

Now running nearly five minutes late, I scramble to find a place for this conversation to end without leaving anything unsaid. "Alex?" I whisper softly, like the flapping of a butterfly's wing.

He softly places his hands on the small of my back, touching me like I'm porcelain, and pulls me closer. "Yes, Ellie?"

"I love you. So much."

He inhales, but it's uneven as if he is holding back tears. "I love you too. Which is why I'm going to do everything I can to bring you home. Even if it means…well, don't worry about it."

Again, he trails off. I understand why. He thinks I don't know, but I do.

"The not-so-secret victor sex trade."

Alex tenses up and pulls away. "How do you know about that? You're not supposed to."

Being one out of nine children, I've mastered the art of eavesdropping. My older brother and my husband have been best friends since we were children, and after Alex won his Games three years ago, he was forced into the "business." Master eavesdropper I am, I listened in on Alex telling Atticus about it three years ago.

Until I married my husband, it really didn't bother me. Yet now that we're married, I struggle with it sometimes. The thought of another woman taking off the clothes I helped him pack, their hands roaming his body in the same paths mine have. Him kissing the other woman, holding her, touching her. I normally pay no mind to the issue, but once in a blue moon I think about it, and it hurts.

"I overheard you telling my brother one time."

He purses his lips and shakes his head. "Just so you know, I don't enjoy a second of it."

"A twenty-one year old man not enjoying sex? For some reason I find that hard to believe. Can't you say no to them?" I say evenly but uncertainly.

"I only enjoy sex when it's with you," he says. "It's something that should be between two married people. You. And me. Believe me, there's nothing I'd rather do than say no to the Capitol women. I can't, though. You've no idea what the president does to victors who say no."

He pauses, waiting for me to say something, but I say nothing.

"Elia, please believe me?"

The smallest part of me wants to be angry, but one glance at the look in his blue eyes makes me believe him completely. "I believe you, but why didn't you tell me? I loved you enough to understand…"

"I was afraid of what you would do if I told you. I'm so sorry; I never should have thought that you wouldn't be understanding. That's not like you."

I don't say anything back, I just smile at him and lean against his chest. His reasons for trying to keep his victor business a secret are totally understandable. On a normal day, I'd still be angry with him. But this is the morning of the twenty-fourth annual Hunger Games. I don't have time to be upset with him.

"Hey," He whispers."If you head downstairs now, I might be able to sneak in those five extra minutes I asked your stylist for."

I nod and leave for downstairs.

By the time I get to the first floor, Moss is already waiting there. He smiles when he sees me and says, "Finally! You were taking forever!"

I shrug, "Could've gone without me, you know."

Moss freezes and stares at me as if I have two heads. The tall, long-legged seventeen year old tilts his head to the side, his shaggy dark-brown hair almost hitting his shoulder. "Aegir knows we're really all we've got left of home. Why leave home behind until you have to?"

_Oh! Moss is making sense!_ Perhaps he is a bit brighter than I gave him credit for.

For just a moment, I regret not taking advantage of any of the opportunities I had to join his alliance. Lilly, the District 11 tribute, asked me once, and Moss asked me three times. On one hand, it was a stupid decision. On the other hand, I'm glad I'm not allied with Moss.

It's not that I don't like him, because I do. The Dorians are fishermen, like most of the people in District 4, but what sets Moss's family apart is that they're poorer than the vast majority of the District. I went to school with several people whose socioeconomic backgrounds mirrored Moss's, and most of them were spiteful people with extreme anger issues. Despite the cards life has dealt him, Moss is an optimist and generally a nice guy. He's determined, he's a fighter, but he also lacks the brutality that is a commonplace character trait in District 4 boys.

This is why I'm glad to not be in an alliance with him. It would be a hundred times easier to watch him die if I hated him. But I don't hate him, and I want his picture in the sky to be the only evidence I see of his death.

A tap on my shoulder interrupts my thoughts. Moss's sea green eyes meet mine before darting away. "No use keeping the stylists waiting. This way,"

"Right," I say, following Moss through the building.

As we walk, I think about what impending doom awaits in the arena.

Twenty-four go in. I am one of the twenty-four. One comes out. Hopefully, I'm that one….that means twenty-three must to die.

I shudder at the thought of twenty-three teenagers, most younger than I, dying bloody, violent, painful deaths.

_Including Moss._

I clap a hand over my mouth as if I said those thoughts out loud. I look over at Moss and notice he's not looking at me oddly, so luckily, those thoughts were silent. Be that as it may, I don't feel any better about it. In fact, I'm appalled with myself.

What am I doing? Who am I becoming?

I just wished death upon somebody. That's not me. Yes, the want for his death is vague, but no matter how great the nebulousness of my thoughts, the fact of the matter is, I still thought about it.

_How can you do that, Elia? You never even wish death on your enemies! Flower pots falling on their heads and crushed dreams maybe, but death?_

And what's worse? He is from home. He has been nothing but nice to me even though we are competitors in this deadly game.

I'm beginning to reconsider my surviving. Perhaps I don't even deserve it. Perhaps he does.

I hope he doesn't speak to me when we finally reach the end of the hall, but he does. He turns to me and shakes my hand. "Good luck," he says firmly.

"Good luck," I mumble.

The hovercraft flight to the arena flashes by in a blue. When the hovercrafts land, we are handed over to our stylists. Mine is a thin man with neon pink skin and cotton candy blue hair named Thallium. Thallium's prep team, Castor, Belladonna and Monkshood, are equally strange. Their skin colors range from bleached white to carrot orange and they have tattoos all over. Belladonna has an assortment of glowing geometric shapes all over her mint green hair. They don't even look like people, and it's hard to believe that they are.

Monkshood takes one of his sunshine yellow fingers and twirls one of my red curls around it. He furrows his brow in contemplation and turns to Belladonna. "I know Thallium told us not to cut it, but don't you think it's too long?"

Belladonna parts her plump orange lips to respond to Monkshood's question, but Castor slaps his hand over her mouth to silence her. She glares at Castor, who rolls his eyes.

An irritated Monkshood turns to Castor and folds his arms over his chest. "Well?"

"Whatever Thallium says, goes. Thallium says no cutting her hair more than we already did. We will leave it be," is Castor's stern reply.

The rest of the prep session passes in silence, which gives my mind ample time to wander. Unfortunately, it wanders to things I'd rather not think about right now.

The Games.

Killing.

My family.

Being pregnant.

Protecting my baby.

I hang my head, letting my curls shroud my face. Even when the prep team calls in Thallium, I keep my head down. He tilts his head of blue hair to the side and pulls my hair from my face.

"Why so serious?" He asks, but it's not like he really cares. He's just here to get a job done.

I search my brain for the right answer. I don't want to tell anything intimate and personal to someone making me look pretty to the arena, but I don't want to be short with him either. "Anticipation," I tell him. "That's all."

Thallium nods and hands me a pile of black clothing, this year's tribute uniform. He tries to help me get dressed, but I wave him away and put on the leggings and skintight shirt myself, and sit on the edge of the table to put on the black boots. I am halfway done tying the left boot when Thallium sits beside me and begins to tie the right.

As much as being treated like a child bothers me, I don't wave him away this time. "I'm married as well, you know."

My interest level in what my stylist has to say is suddenly multiplied a hundredfold. "Really? For how long?"

"Twelve years. Her name is Calantha- Callie."

"Twelve years? That's awesome," I say, truly happy for him but I'm also a little sad. I might not even get to see my first anniversary, much less my twelfth.

"For Capitol standards, it's a pretty long marriage," he says, handing me another article of clothing.

"The arena will be cold?" I ask, gesturing to the jacket.

"I can't answer that," says Thallium.

"Of course," I say quietly.

He stands up at pats my shoulder. "I'm not supposed to do this, but I told your husband he could say goodbye. You have exactly five minutes, but no more than that."

I feel a sudden upsurge of affection for my extraterrestrial of a stylist. "Thank you. Thank you so much."

Thallium winks and walks out the door, but before the door even closes, Alex walks in. His eyes are red and watery, but I pretend that I don't notice and throw my arms around him.

"Thallium's awfully nice for allowing us these five minutes," I tell him. "How did you do it?"

"I'm very amiable and convincing when I want to be," is his answer.

A short silence passes before he abruptly says, "Give me your ring."

"My wedding ring?"

"No, your purity ring. Of course I mean your wedding ring."

"Why?"

"You're only allowed one token," he says, gesturing to the shell necklace Isobel brought to me on behalf of my mother.

I gaze achingly at the ring on my left hand. It has become such a permanent part of me and the thought of handing it over pains me. Reluctantly, I slide the ring off my finger and place it in my husband's hand. He pockets it and promises I'll have it back when I win.

"You don't know that I'll-"

Alex slams his palms down on the nearest table and turns his head to me with a manic look in his eye. "Don't say that! You have to win, you just have to! You're pregnant, Elia. You're pregnant. You have to win. For…for the baby."

"Our baby," I correct. "You're going to be a great father.

"If your interactions with your younger siblings are any sort of indicator, you'll make an amazing mother. She'll love you."

"What makes you so sure it'll be a girl?"

"I'm not; I just really want a little girl," he says thoughtfully, a jovial smile appearing on his face.

"You've thought about it before?"

"Often," he admits. "I've thought of names too, but one never sticks for more than maybe five minutes. I always picture her with red hair like you."

I pretend to be offended. "You _want_ our daughter to be a ginger? I'm sorry, but do you _hate_ our child?"

"Ginger kids are cute. I see one and I just want to hug them!"

"You do realize that you sound like a creeper when you say that, right?" I chuckle.

Alex leans over and kisses me playfully. "I love you, even though you constantly point out my creeperism."

"And I love you, even though you're a freak." I say, returning the kiss.

His eyes shift to my still flat stomach. "I'll bring you two home. I promise."

I lean in to kiss him one last time before the door opens and Thallium walks in to tell us that our five minutes are up. Alex kisses me one last time and wishes me good luck. As he exits the room, I try not to cry. Thallium plays with my hair absentmindedly in a feeble attempt to mollify me. Surprisingly, Thallium's half-hearted effort is enough to hold back my tears. I mumble thanks to the stylist as he leads me to the launch tube. He offers me an array of encouraging words as he motions for me to step into the tube.

The thought of the arena is daunting, but I am ready. I got a ten in training. I have an eidetic memory. I know my survival skills. I am a decent people reader. All of these skills can help me survive in the arena and win.

"I can do it," I affirm to myself as I set foot in the clear soundproof tube. Thallium presses a button and it closes around me before slowly rising up to the launch pad. I keep my eyes closed until I feel the launch pad come to a stop. Eyes still shut tight, I rub my stomach and count to five.

_We can do this, kiddo. Daddy will help us._

"Open," I whisper to myself.

When I open my eyes, I see nothing but neatly trimmed yet ferocious looking hedges in front of me, a maze perhaps, and the golden cornucopia towering above us, acting as a guiding beacon. A second look at the hedges confirms my initial theory.

The Gamemakers have really outdone themselves this time.

Food, weapons, supplies. We must find our way through the maze to the cornucopia where we can obtain those objects necessary for our survival. Surely there must be dangers hidden among these hedges. I've watched enough Games to know that nothing is as it seems.

I look to my left and to my right in hopes of catching at least a glimpse of the other tributes. Negative. I swallow, close my eyes, and take a deep breath to suppress any last remnants of fear. I can't help but to wonder how much of our sixty seconds is up at this point.

My question is answered by the sounding of a gong and the booming voice of Pontius Felix, Games announcer.

_Ladies and gentlemen! Let the twenty-fourth annual Hunger Games...begin!_


	37. Cake

_Here's the FIRST bloodbath chapter from the POV of a very unique character._

_Thanks for all your reviews and favorites (and PMs)! Working on responding to everything, but it may take us a bit. Have a great St. Patrick's Day and be safe those of you who are celebrating or...around people who are celebrating._

_Tuesday is the next update. Don't worry, there are three more bloodbath chapters coming so that you can see things from different POV's and leaving times._

_Remember, reviews are love!_

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><p><em>Relk Stein, District Six<em>

_Jayfish_

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><p><em>Whoa.<em>

The seconds are ticking down, and all I can do is stare. The tributes are arranged in a circle, and around us there is what looks to be the… the walls of a maze? I think so, but I can't be sure. It looks like that, anyway.

The Cornucopia gleams in the center of the clearing, and I tighten my chubby hands into fists. _That_is most definitely my goal. I know Rena will need food and stuff, but she's probably too weak to get it. That's why I, Relk, her knight in shining armor, am going to get her all the supplies she needs. How can she resist me after that?

I resist the urge to gnaw on my lettuce leaf token. I have five seconds left. Now four. Now three.

The gong rings and I stroll nonchalantly off my plate. Everybody else is running. Well, they all look stupid. I, Relk Stein, am going to win these Games, so I don't see why I have to go running everywhere.

Some of the tributes are at the Cornucopia already. Well, I guess speeding up a little bit can't hurt. I begin to jog and immediately stop, winded. _Well, I tried my best. Guess I'll be taking it slow from here._

There is a loaf of bread on the ground. I pick it up and tear into it as I stroll towards the Cornucopia. What? Rena probably doesn't even like bread. Besides, I may be hopelessly devoted to her, but if it comes down to it, I'm going to be the one who gets the food. Sorry Rena, but there's only one winner.

Speaking of Rena, I have no idea where she is. The battle at the Cornucopia appears to be raging, but I don't know if she's participating in it. She didn't tell me her strategy, despite the fact that I literally followed her everywhere for a day, whining every five minutes. _She didn't crack and tell me. What a strong woman._

I'm close enough to the Cornucopia now to see that people are still fighting, and screaming. A spear comes flying at me and miraculously I swivel my trunk and it clatters uselessly to the ground. _See, everyone? Take that for underestimating Relk Stein!_

A second later, I screech when I trip over something and fall heavily to the ground. The thing I tripped over turns out to be a girl, rummaging in a pile of packs and apples and stuff. She looks desperate, and I realize that I amazingly know her name.

"You tripped me, Sapphire!" I exclaim, putting my hands on my hips. "How dare you?"

Sapphire is giving me a strange look. There is a syringe in the pile in front of her, and slowly her fingers wrap around it and she points the needle at me. "Don't be silly," I laugh. "You can't hurt me with _that_."

Her face is grim. "Get out of here, little boy," she starts, and then screams. A shadow has fallen over us, and I realize with even more amazement that I recognize this person as well. _Hyre Fletching. What does_he _want?_

He looks down at both of us and looks as though he's feeling bad about something. He has a sword in his hand; I don't know if that's his normal weapon or one that he just picked up. In any event, he's staring at Sapphire, who is closer to him. She has scrambled to her feet and is holding out her syringe. I chuckle. _What an idiot._Hyre is stepping closer to her, and I scramble to my feet by leaning against the Cornucopia. Somebody screams in the background. I ignore it and pick up an apple lying on the ground by my feet as I watch the show.

Funny, Hyre really looks as though he's feeling bad as he swings the sword at Sapphire. It's no surprise when the sword catches her on the wrist and a spurt of blood erupts from the wound. She gives a piteous scream and falls back, clutching her arm. It is already covered in blood, and she is shaking like a leaf. _See, her problem is that she's so skinny. No fat cushion to protect her, like me. She's so funny looking!_

_But Hyre's gonna get her, so it's okay._

Hyre's face twists, and he steps towards Sapphire, who hasd managed to raise her syringe with the other hand. He twists his sword and the syringe is dashed to the ground. Sapphire gasps and her eyes darken. She stumbles at Hyre and raises her working fist, and he slashes at her. Both of them freeze at the dull thump of Sapphire's forearm thudding to the grass.

Sapphire crumples. Clutching her bleeding stump, she wails on the ground. Tossing away my apple, I cover my ears. _Honestly._

Hyre kneels beside her quivering form. His lips are forming words as he positions his blade over her neck. He stabs quickly, and Sapphire convulses. Hyre turns and jogs away, shoulders slumped, and still Sapphire convulses. Her face is as white as a sheet and her blood is making a pool around her slit neck.

Well, she's dead. Anyway, I don't think sticking around here much longer is a good idea. "Bye," I tell the now dead Sapphire, and snag one of the packs. "Now you won't need this."

The spear I dodged earlier is still lying on the ground. I reach down slowly and pick it up. Nobody is watching me. Well, the fools will regret it later, when I destroy them.

Someone rounds the corner of the Cornucopia and backs away, her back to me. I recognize the corn girl from the chariot rides; District Eleven, I think. She is panting and sweating. I grin; my first kill.

I can be stealthy when I want to, and so it is extremely easy to sneak up behind this girl. I position the spear towards her back, and bring it back to stab.

Oh. I appear to have misjudged my weapon. I've been holding it wrong. Instead of being buried in that annoying girl's back, I've stabbed my own spear into my stomach.

I choke, and she turns around with a look of confusion before shaking her head slowly and running off. I can feel blood rushing out of my mouth and my nose, and my eyes widen. _"Mom,"_I squeak, falling onto the grass. This action makes the shaft of the spear slide up in my flesh, and my limbs twitch. _"Rena."_

Wherever she is, she isn't coming to rescue me.

More blood. More pain. Is this what it feels like to be grossly skinny? My fat must be making this less painful, right? There is liquid on my face. Am I crying?

_Not dying fast enough. It hurts. Starvation. Rena. Cake._

There is blackness in my vision, and slowly I lift a hand to the spear in my belly. I grasp it, and with all the strength I have ever possessed, I rip it out. It hurts, but only briefly, because numbness is spreading from my core to my fingertips.

I can't resist a gloating smile. _"I win,"_I whisper, because at this moment it's true. I am the winner. If not of the Hunger Games, than something better. I laugh and cough up blood.

I am suddenly floating. I am not in the arena. Sitting in front of me is a giant cake.

_Hell yes,_I think, and die.


	38. Sorry, Kid

Here you go, the second chapter of the bloodbath! Thanks for sticking with us. We'll be having a special update on Thursday. It'll be from the perspective of someone you see that dies in this chapter. It'll be a little one shot. All author's who characters can't win have the option to do a chapter of their death from their POV and/or how their family reacts or doesn't react to their death if they chose to.

Eventually, we'll have a few alternate endings posted as one shots too. Ex. What if Relk won? Not sure if that one is happening, I think we should definitely all ask nicely though!

Next update is Saturday and it'll be updated by the loverly Isabugg. ^_^ One more time, main update is Saturday. One shot is Thursday. So make sure to check in or alert on this account for authors so you'll find out when it's released.

Thanks for staying with us! We are working on replies and such now that are updates are working again.

But enough, I'll let you enjoy the chapter. And I hope everyone enjoys the movie this Friday!

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><p>"<em>All I need is you,<em>

_Come please, I'm calling,_

_And oh I scream for you,_

_Hurry, I'm falling, I'm falling."_

_~ Nickelback_

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><p><em>PearyPants44- Moss Dorian of District 4<em>

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><p>Home. The thing that shouldn't be on my mind, but is. Thinking of my family will only distract me. It will only hold me back and prevent me from fighting my hardest. My heart longs to hug my brother one last time, to hear words of comfort from Brock, or even to listen to my father complain from his seat on our living room couch. How can I be expected to go into this impossible battle when I'm caught up in memories of District 4?<p>

My metal plate is rising at a slow pace, leading me to what could be my demise. My thoughts always come back to the day of the reaping. The moment I volunteered. I have to remind myself that I did this to save my family. They won't make it if I don't win. Their fate rests on my shoulders. But now that I'm here, standing in the arena that will take the lives of twenty-three innocent teenagers, I start to wonder; what if I didn't volunteer? I would have turned nineteen and escaped the Hunger Games forever. Maybe I could've supported Maris and my father without the help of the Hunger Games' prize money.

But it's too late to think of that now. Before my plate fully comes aboveground, I squeeze my eyes shut to escape back to District 4. It works and I'm flooded with images of the ocean, the beach, even the dreadful town square that hosts the reaping every year. I'm not in the Hunger Games, I'm safe and sound at home. Is this what it's like to have your life flash before your eyes?

Before I know it, Maris is there. I smile, but that quickly fades. He's not the little brother I left at home. He's a completely different person. His body is unnaturally thin, like he hasn't eaten in days. Hell, he probably hasn't! I'll bet my father hasn't gotten off his ass since I left. Maris is starving because I've left him. He just needs to hold on until I can win for him. Then he'll never be hungry again.

My brother says nothing, just stares at me with eyes of pain. The same broken, sea-green eyes that my whole family shares. All of us have our own reasons. My father was shattered when my mother left him. Me, when I said my final goodbyes in the justice building. And now Maris as he watches his brother walk into a death trap on live television. I can feel my own closed eyes begin to build up tears as the faint memory of my brother drifts away.

He's immediately replaced by my best friend, Brock. His expression is stern and his arms are crossed over his chest. If I didn't know better, I'd say that he was another tribute about to kill me. I'm strong, but Brock is about two times my size. He could snap me like a twig. I cringe, and the image I have of my friend says in a deadly serious tone, "Be brave Moss."

I have no choice but to listen to him. I have to be brave and fight. I have to be brave and win. I have to be brave and open my eyes. So I do.

There's no time to check out the arena. I have been standing on my launch pad for most of the minute before the Games actually start. Two things stand out to me instantly. One, the massive Cornucopia is a long distance ahead of me. The only thing between us is a huge hedge maze. Two, behind me, past a small chasm, is a vast graveyard. An eerie breeze brushes across my back and send shivers down my spine. Of all places, I had to start here.

I grit my teeth and clench my fists at my sides. My shaggy dark brown hair lightly sweeps across my face due to the faint wind. I imagine my green eyes looking somewhat fierce, yet terrified. I'm scared, but I'm determined. I have to win. If I don't, not only will my life be taken, but two others. My father and brother. It seems like all this stress is to my disadvantage, but I think differently. It gives me something most of the others have given up. Hope.

With my last few seconds of peace, I glance down at my neck. The black, chain-link necklace is still there. My father never did tell me what was so important about it. If I ever get back home, will I find out? I can guarantee the story behind my token is going to haunt me for as long as I'm alive, leaving my wondering what it's all about.

Suddenly, I'm off. I don't know how or when or why, but I'm sprinting with all my might down the narrow path that leads into the maze. I didn't even hear an announcement or a cannon or anything signifying the start of the Games, but that's probably because I was so caught up in my nostalgia. All I know is that my brain processed what was going on and my legs responded accordingly. This marks the beginning of my struggle to get home.

Already, I hear the sound of other tributes battling. How did they manage to find each other so quickly? It scares me, giving me a taste of how tough my competition really is. They were faster than me. What if I'm not as skilled as I thought?

Reaching the end of the long path, I'm faced with a choice. Left or right? Or maybe straight through the hedge. I decide against the last option. The time it might take me to get through would leave me wide open for ambush. Without stopping, I swerve to the right and continue down a shorter trail. I kick up dirt behind my as I run. My heart is beginning to pound furiously as if it wants to break out of my chest. The feeling makes me want to scream, but I ignore it. I ignore everything except the task at hand. I even forget about Maris. Right now, I have to find my allies, get some supplies, and get the hell out of this mess.

An opening to my left. Without thinking, I take it, picking up my pace. More tributes have already found each other and are fighting. How many have died so far? One? Two? Ten? No one can be sure. I don't know if I should feel lucky or frightened that I haven't encountered anyone yet.

Taking another left turn, followed by a right one, I almost trip over a pack of something. Stopping in my tracks, I whirl around to see it's an empty container to be used for storing food. The Cornucopia is still a good distance away. Something in my head clicks as I realize what's going on. They've scattered the supplies around the Cornucopia. They must increase in value the farther in you go. In a second, I scoop up the plastic container and continue my run.

I find no more supplies as I make a few more turns, trying to remember which way to go to get to the golden horn. The terrain below my feet is smooth and makes for easy moving. This I'm grateful for. If it had any more bumps or rocks, I'd be flat on my face waiting for someone to come kill me.

Ahead of me, there's an opening to my right, but the path goes farther past it. I decide to skip the turn and go straight, but I stop when I hear voices. Even my racing heart halts for a moment when I realize what's going on. I press my back up against the surprisingly firm hedge and peek my head around the corner through the opening. Instead of a narrow path like the ones I've been traveling on, this opening leads to room-like area. There's four walls of hedges with openings in each side. Inside, two boys are going at it. I can tell this isn't going to end well for one of them. The other has a spear.

Making no noise, I observe their fight. I feel awful for the younger boy. He can't be older than fourteen! His dark skin grows even darker as he's shoved to the ground getting dirt all over him. His frightened blue eyes dart around the area, searching for something, anything. Finally, they fix on me. I gulp and whirl my head back around my corner. I recognize the boy as Vaughn Shumway, the kid from District 11. Part of me wants to run in and save him, but I keep myself from doing it. If I let him live, that's one more tribute I'll have to kill myself. One more obstacle keeping me from home.

I peer around the hedge again to catch more of the fight. The other boy is looming over Vaughn with his spear gripped in his right hand and his foot pressed against Vaughn's chest. It doesn't take me long to figure out who the attacker is. Boston Williams of District 10. The kid is only a year younger than me and to be honest, he's massive. His tanned muscles could even compete with those of Brock back home. It's all over for Vaughn. Unless I do something, he's going to die. And of course, no matter how much I wish to, I can't do anything. Hating myself for letting a fellow human-being die, I sink my hands into the hedge behind me, waiting for the right moment to dash across the gap in the hedges while avoiding Boston's line of sight.

This is it, Boston thrusts his spear down towards Vaughn's head. I expect the boy to scream in pain, but he doesn't. He's begun flailing around desperately, enough so that the point of the spear missed and impaled the ground.

My conscience feels a little better. Maybe Vaughn can get out of this without my help after all. He scrambles out from underneath Boston, backing away from him as the boy from 10 rips his weapon out of the ground.

"P-please," Vaughn stutters. His eyes are filled with tears and his lip is trembling immensely. He's too scared to get to his feet and run, so he inches backwards away from Boston. "Not n-now. Not so s-s-soon. Please."

Boston hesitates. He looks to be pondering his options for a minute before finally saying decisively, "Sorry kid." He lunges forward, his spear outstretched. Vaughn lets out a final shriek as his chest is impaled with the weapon. Blood slowly oozes out of the wound, but more is coming from his mouth as he coughs. The last thing he does before Boston rips the spear out of him is look at me with his blue eyes. He stares like he can't believe what I've done. I refused to help him. Indirectly, I got him killed.

As the boy from 10 retracts his weapon, Vaughn falls to the ground limply. Despite the lack of a cannon because it's the bloodbath, I know he's dead. The first death of the Games? I have no clue. All I know is that Boston has bent over to see if he was carrying anything. With his back turned, I take my chance. I desperately run out into the open, hoping to get away without being seen.

There's a shout behind me.

I failed.

I don't slow down as Boston comes barreling out of the clearing where Vaughn died. He charges at me, but I'm faster. Gradually, I put distance between us. I hear him grunt and know what to do. I leap into the air as his spear flies into the ground at my heels, just missing me. I hit the dirt rolling, but come back up on my feet. I hurl the only thing in my hands, my plastic container, behind me, hitting Boston in the face. I don't expect it to cause damage, but it startled him. It let me get away.

Making several random turns, I don't stop until I'm sure I've lost the boy from 10. I let myself rest for a few seconds, just to collect myself. I've completely lost the Cornucopia now, but I must begetting close. I glance at the path ahead of me. It leads to another one of those open areas, similar to the one I just watched Vaughn die in. Something catches my eye. A piece of metal is shimmering in the sunlight. A weapon.

As anyone else would do, I run for it. As I get closer, I realize it's a sword. The perfect thing for me! I've trained with this all my life, and now there's one waiting to be used by me. I break into the clearing with a grin on my face, something I shouldn't be wearing in the arena.

I don't even check out my surroundings. Happily, I lean over to inspect my prize. The hilt is jet black with intricate swirls decorating it. A dark blue gem rests in the center. The blade is made from the finest metals, firm and deadly. This can only mean one thing. I'm getting closer to the Cornucopia.

I bend down to pick it up. I guess that's where I made my mistake.

Without warning, I'm ambushed from behind. I feel the coldness of a blade slash across my back, opening up a massive gash from my right shoulder all the way to my left hip. My shirt is torn open and blood is seeping through. The cloth begins sticking to the gooey red substance, making my pain even worse. It spreads throughout my whole body until I can't stand it anymore. I fall to my knees and my fists hit the bloodstained dirt.

A shadow is standing over me, but I don't know who it is. I can't even check. My vision is getting blurry, probably from loss of blood. My muscles feel so weak that I can barely move them. In a second, my arms give out and I fall on my face. Dirt gets in my eyes and adds to the stinging I feel everywhere else in my body.

This can't be happening. I've barely gotten anywhere and I'm already a dead man. I've let my family down. Maris is going to starve and it's all my fault. I couldn't do it. I'm a failure.

I hate what I'm feeling right now. Not the pain from my open wound, but my vulnerability. I can't do anything to even defend myself. I need someone to come and save me because I'm too weak to do it myself. This is what Vaughn was feeling. This is when he counted on me to pull through and save him, but I let him down. Now it's my turn.

My heart wants to keep fighting, to carry on and win for Maris. But my brain gives up. There's nothing I can do this time. No amount of training could ever prepare me for this. My head starts to hurt as I see the shadow move. It's lifting something, a hatchet maybe. The blow that will have me dead is about to be delivered.

My eyes close by themselves. I'm joined again by Maris and Brock. My brother stares at me in horror, knowing well that I've let him down. Brock is ashamed, shaking his head and looking at his feet. I don't think much of them. All I do is wait for the pain to end. Wait for my life to slip away.

But it doesn't.

Opening one eye, the shadow is no longer there. Instead, two girls are rolling around on the dirt floor next to me. One screams as the other pulls at her blonde hair. However, blondie pulls out a knife and slashes across the other girl's face. A cut opens up on her forehead and blood pours into her eyes. Blondie isn't done. She slashes two more times, cutting open the girl's left cheek and shoulder.

The now badly injured girl screams in agony and kicks blondie off with her feet. She stumbles backwards, her vision most likely impaired by her wounds, but she gets away. I watch as Tara Tremain of 12, my attacker, flees.

"Moss!"

Blondie is running towards me now. I brace myself, thinking it's all over. Surely she's going to finish me off with that knife of hers. She stands over me for a moment before bending down. She gasps, probably thinking I'm dead. I manage to let out a moan and she sighs. I recognize her now. She's here to help, not harm. Aella props me up on my knees and kneels in front of me. Partially out of weakness and partially out of thanks, I fall forward into her arms, doing my best attempt at a hug.

"Saved me…" is all that escapes my lips. There's so many things I'd like to tell her right now, but I can't find the strength. More blood is pouring out of my back. It's only a matter of time before my game is over.

"We're leaving," she says, ignoring my thanks. She stands and struggles to pull me up. She wraps one arm around my shoulders and holds her knife in the other. "We're getting out of this bloodbath."

"No," I say, spitting out some blood and dirt. "Cornucopia… Lilly… Bandages…"

Aella's face says she hates me for disagreeing. She wants to get us to safety, but I won't have it. Not without something to patch up my wound and certainly not without my allies. She realizes my time is ticking and says grumpily, "Fine."

As she drags me away, I manage to grab the sword. This weapon got me into this mess and I'm not leaving without it.

The next few minutes are a blur. We barely walk, but the effort is huge. Aella is pretty strong, but not strong enough to lug around a guy like me. She starts panting after the first few steps.

We struggle down a straight path before we come across an opening and she falls, dropping me in the dirt. I hear the sound of battling tributes, now loud and clear. I realize that we've finally reached the Cornucopia.

"Wait here," Aella mutters. I don't argue as she sprints into the madness. I drag myself up against a hedge, staying out of sight of the tributes. I grip my sword for dear life, ready to strike if anyone comes my way. I doubt it would do any good anyway. I can barely hold it up let alone fight with it. Blood is still seeping out of my body as my vision fogs even more. My memory starts acting up and every time I blink, it seems dragged out. I see stars in the darkness. The temperature starts rising, but for some reason I don't think that's something I'm imagining.

Two tributes move closer to me, thankfully too engaged in combat to pay me any attention. One's a girl and the other is a boy. I feel like I should know them, especially the girl. Her red hair seems so familiar…

"Elia," I whisper.

My district partner lashes out against Ari Locus from District 9 with some kind of weapon. He quickly steps back, causing her to stumble forwards. He also has a weapon in hand. Swinging it downward, he shouts, "Die you stupid ginger!"

Elia avoids his blow and gives him a oh-no-you-didn't look. Now even more enraged, she grazes Ari with her blade. It leaves a large cut on his arm, but nothing too deep or fatal. He winces and darts away, back towards the mountain of supplies.

The married girl is about to follow him when she sees me cowering in the bushes. She tilts her head and is poised to strike, but she doesn't. Instead, she takes off. I wonder if she really did see me or if I'm delusional. Surely she would've killed me if that was real, right?

Everything seems so distant now. I wait for a long time before Aella comes back carrying some things. I'm too dizzy to figure out what they are, but they must be good.

"Bandages?" I ask. She nods.

"Come on."

She helps me up again, but I'm finding it even more difficult to stand. We slowly make our way away from the Cornucopia, down a path that Aella says leads to the forest. I have no clue how she knows that. Could she tell what the arena looked like from the Cornucopia?

"Work with me, Moss," she complains, doing her best to walk with me weighing her down.

For a few seconds, I doze off. Not sleeping, but unconscious. I awake again, still being dragged by my ally. Her face is sweating and I soon find that mine is too. The bushes here seem to radiate heat and dance around in orange and red swirls. They're called something… fire I think. Fire isn't good.

Aella realizes this as well and walks faster. Still a little out of it due to blood loss, I end up looking at her with a goofy grin on my face. Her blonde hair looks amazing in the firelight. She glances at me and asks, "Are you alright?"

"You're pretty."

I don't know what she does after that. The world goes black and I feel myself slipping back into unconsciousness.


	39. Lean on Me

A/N: Hellooo! This is Isabugg. Or Isabelle. Or Belle. Or Joaquín Lafuente Sebastião Francisco Manso de Zuñiga. (Not really, MOTHER OF GOD.)

This chapter is from the massively talented Phoenix Refrain/Nina! Her character, Aspen, has certainly been through a lot, and this chapter is sure to tug at some heartstrings.

I'm sure you've all noticed the positive changes going around in the ToB community. This story is doing nothing but improving everyday, stats-wise, story-wise, organization-wise, pretty much EVERYTHING-wise. *insert well-timed applause here*

We also have our first one-shot up! It's by the glorious Yelof530, and it's definitely a tearjerker. Go check it out!

Lastly, thank you all for sticking with us through all the rough patches we've been faced with. Seriously, you're all wonderful!

Here's some information regarding the future of the 24tributes24authors community, and how we're planning on expanding in the future. We have some great stuff in store for you all!

Okay, we've mentioned time and time again that we'll be accepting applications in the near future. It's a Quarter Quell—not just any Quarter Quell, the FIRST Quarter Quell. This is momentous. It sets the tone for the ENTIRE rest of the games.

We've got over six hundred reviews under out belt. We've got and had some talented authors. Don't let that deter you from us when it's time to apply. Because only two slots are promised next round to people—one because of an unfairness done to them under previous administration and the other—the winner of this game who gets to have their character come back as a mentor AND get a tribute from that district. So there are twenty two slots that will be up for grabs.

We want talent, we want creativity but we want believability. But most of all, we want reliability. If you aren't reliable, you won't be chosen.

So start thinking about tributes and ideas. If you want to be a part of the original twenty four authors concept, and experience what I promise will be a magnificent Quarter Quell—then look no further.

Because let's face it, nothing is better than the first time.

Coming soon—First Quarter Quell Summer 2012

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><p><strong><strong>_Araucaria (Aspen) Checkhov, District 7_

_Bloodbath Part Three_

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><p><em>Don't you dare look out your window darling;<em>

_Everything's on fire_

_The war outside our door keeps raging on._

_"Safe and Sound" by Taylor Swift_

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><p><em>My lips touch hers for the first time, and what will probably be the last. Everything seems to slow down as my hand reaches up and touches the smooth skin of her face before tangling in her hair. Our lips move against each other's soft and imploring evoking strange feelings somewhere inside my chest—I've never felt like this before.<em>

_My whole body tingles from my head to my toes, and this sense of ecstasy floods to my head so that for this moment I can forget where we are, who we are, and what's going to happen. It's like nothing in the world exists but right now. Everything else is just…gone._

_But the oblivion fades just as our lips part. I open my eyes just in time to see her damp lashes flicker up, her maple coloured eyes looking straight in to mine again. And then our eyes break away._

_What have we done?_

…

I have made my peace with life as best I can since it could be ending today. Death is impatient, so is the arena—really they're the same things. I spent the night before talking with Nella—kissing lips I should never have touched. Those lips are what fills my thoughts now, those eyes like maple…

I spent hours last night trying to write a letter to my family, to try to tell them I loved them and that I don't regret my decision to come here. But words failed me. I'd said it all when I left and at the interview, at least all that I can say. I write the only thing they care to hear besides that I'm alive. The only thing that I can guarantee:

_I love you._

_-A_

Just a note to be delivered home with my body if I fail in my attempts to get back to them. It's not much, but it let's them know that my last thoughts are for them and that I regret nothing at all. I know if I die, they'll grieve me. They will bury me in the graveyard reserved for the tributes under a cross that won't bear my name but that of my brother. They will sing the banned song in a hushed voice while I am laid to rest—it pains me to know that it's Ashe who will sing it because she'll be the one to remember the meaning of it. Ashe who will sing it for me, and maybe Nella—losing both her brother and best friend.

There was nothing else to say. There's still nothing else to say as the glass tube closes around me. I don't like the enclosed space that holds me there, but I keep still. For a moment, I feel the panic rise in me as I disappear into darkness. I think of all the things I should have done—I should have eaten more and drank more. Who knows when my next meal would be? I should have lived more—I should have never told Nella that it would only be harder if we stayed together in the arena. What was going to be harder than dying? I should have stayed with her every moment that we had left.

The plate rises up out of the ground and I look around, but there's no point. All I see is hedges. I turn my head around, and I'm greeted by the same sight. I know the general direction I'm pointed is toward the Cornocopia, but I can't see anything. I don't see my allies or anyone really. Maybe around the corner of the maze I'm in. "Aella! Lilly! Moss!" I call it out in the stillness, knowing time is growing short. I hear a shout back at me; but it's lost in the sound of the gong.

I'm running through the maze at top speed—at least as fast as I can go if I have to stop suddenly from running into someone. The minutes fly by quickly as I weave around hedges, I've got to be getting close by now. But something alerts me that something is wrong, I'm in the middle of a maze of hedges when the faint smell reaches my senses—_fire._

I need to get out of here before the walls became nothing but flames. I pick up speed darting and dashing through the maze as I start to feel the heat. It licks at my heels as the walls around me burst into flames and leap quickly from hedge to hedge over the top of me. Unluckily, it seems to come from the center of the arena—that means Roy's there already that sick freak.

The heat is making me sweat out the precious water that I gorged myself on as I run faster, expending much more energy than I wanted to. A flame licks at my sleeve, but I'm able to squelch it before it gives me a bad burn. Luckily, it was easy enough since the material isn't that flammable.

Finally, I break to the left at another branch and I can feel fresh air hit my face. It cools the torrents of sweat that stream down my face, the chill of it is like a welcome and familiar touch after a long day. I can't help but think of my mother's kind hands once when I was younger when I had a raging fever.

I push past memories, because now is not the time to hold on to them. I pause for a moment to get my surroundings. The hedges are on fire, spreading around in a burning ring encircling all of us. If it doesn't burn quicker then we'll all be trapped here and the games will end in record time. We'll all be locked in until there's one left.

I'm already off running before my mind has finished registering that thought. Survival has kicked in, fueling my need to keep moving while thinking. I'm racing as fast as my long limbs will carry me when I see someone on my left is running at an angle that will collide with me.

I've no weapon but my fists; I just need to stun him—I think his name is Claus—enough to get in front of him. When, I get close to him, I see him turn as if he's just sensing me. I feel the ache in my hand as my fist connects with his face before quickly running off. The path is straight now though even more hazardous.

All around me, I can hear the sounds of screams, of metal clashing on metal…Already there are some dead. The games have started and there is no time to distinguish friend from foe. The ground is stained with bloods. I move under and around others fighting—too busy with themselves to worry about someone like me who's quickly skirting them. I dive toward the cornucopia, and my hand alights on an axe.

I move quickly to the side, but no one is focused on me. I scoop up a bag that seems heavy enough to have some good supplies. Just before I start to move way, my eyes catch on a medical kit. I shove it into the bag causing the other items inside to shift around. If anything, I don't want us to be short on medical supplies.

I start to move, but something causes me to pause for a moment. Some odd sensation, some inclination that made me hesistate. Right in front of me, a knife thuds into the Cornocopia. Grabbing it, I take off at a run searching for my group. I see Mack, the wispy boy from three pale face as Roy gets closer to him. I avert my eyes, there's nothing there that I want to see—that's when my eyes fall on Lilly.

She's about thirty yards away. For a moment, I don't move as I watch her. Her dark skin glistens with sweat from the heat as she uses a knife blade to cast off Skye's left hand before bringing her right hand in under it. There's a flash of steel as the knife goes in to the hilt in Skye's stomach. Her blue eyes are round and wide, her mouth a perfect "O" of shock and surprise. She probably thought that Lilly would never best her.

Her lips tremble, words fumble on her lips as my feet turn toward Lilly. Even from here, I can see the red drop falling down her lips before forming a stream of blood. She sputters and tries, but all that comes out is, "Ma—Matt…" I don't know what she's trying to say, but she doesn't have much time left to say it.

Lilly throws her down, pulling the blade from her stomach as she does. Her arm is soaked with blood and her face is masked with fury, before it fractures. "I win! I made you pay! Made you pay for killing Chloe!" She's shouting it now.

Skye looks up at her, her chest heaving with effort as her body shakes from coughing. Blood pours from her mouth as easily as the words do this time, "I—I wasn't—wasn't the one—one—who ki—killed…" Her words trail off and her lips try to form the next words.

Lilly's face looks pained. Her vendetta is over, and what does she have left? No sister…no Skye to hunt…I'm almost there when she turns her head to look at me. She smiles briefly, for a moment forgetting where she is—that's when I see Skye lunge for her. Her blade slices deep into Lilly's side, and then tears a gaping gash across her stomach. I'm so close that I feel the warm splatter strike my face.

Lilly screams out as she begins to fall clutching her stomach. I kick Skye's weapons away, and for a moment—I think about ending her, letting her off easy. But the truth is, I'd rather not have her blood on my hands. She won't last that much longer anyways.

I kneel in the damp earth, the blood seeps in through my pants as I check around. No one is paying attention. Lilly's face is paling some, and she's trembling in pain. I take off my jacket and hold it to her stomach and side to staunch the bleeding, but it doesn't help. There's not enough time to do what little first aid I've learned in the forest work. At least this isn't a severed limb, if it was…it'd practically be over already out here in the games—where humanity can't exist. I lift her gently, tying the jacket around her waist assuring her I won't leave. If nothing else, the jacket will at least keep her from leaving a blood trail while we get out of here.

"Listen," I speak soft and low to her. "We've got to go; I'm going to lift you. It's going to hurt. But you got to keep going as long as you can, quietly. Okay?" She nods her head. I secure the backpack, and give her her long blade to hold while putting her other blade and my small knife in my waist band. I pull her up to a sitting position as she groans, and I get my arm around her and adjust her arm around my shoulder before yanking her to her feet.

She leans heavily on me as she stifles another sound of pain. I shift the axe in my right hand to get a better grip in case someone comes up. I half carry/half drag her along. We're slow, much slower than is safe. Already the fights are dying down. If we don't get out soon we'll be having our first fight with the careers—outnumbered and separated.

I don't know why it shocks me when I see Aleah crouching on top of the Cornocopia. Her fingers are tightly wound around the double axe, her movements are feline. I've seen these same actions before right before this stray cat near home killed it's prey. She's poised, ready to inflict pain and damage…ready to strike. For a moment, her eyes meet mine and she flashes me a smile. "Better move lumber boy, I've got other trees to chop."

With delicate, precision I watch as she jumps with one hand clutching the axe as if it's her livelihood and the other wielding a dagger that disappears into Maia's back. Leave it to Aleah to take the opportunity of two others fighting to make a kill. But I can't linger any longer…I'm sure I'll be seeing her again anyways. I can't suppress the shiver I feel.

The fire is quickly burning down, the hedges evaporating fast in the blaze until they're nearly reduced to ash. It'll be safe enough to move through the remnants—at least safer than staying here.

My eyes scan the horizon and beyond the cinders and whisps of smoke, I see the forest. It's our best chance at safety—familiar ground, hiding spots, and the direction we agreed to meet in. I assess our other options—desert is clearly visible in one direction, another a dark dank area, and another odd looking place. Trees are definitely the best bet…but another part of me craves them because they're _home._

I turn to head back to the trees—just as Hyre appears in my way. He's only a few yards away, when he launches a spear at me. There's little time left to dodge—I yank Lilly back quickly elicting a painful sound from her throat just as the spear strikes. The razor tip breaks the skin of my shoulder, and the force makes me stumble and rocks me to my bones. The pain radiates, and tints of black seep around the edges of my vision as the spear falls to the ground. There was too little flesh for it to stay embedded.

Shakily, I raise my axe in my wounded arm. My fingers are clutched tight to it as I push the pain down, and grit my teeth forcing back the blackness of the pain. The blood seeps down my arm, making my palm slick with it. But he's gone.

I pull us further on, fighting against the pain and realizing that my strong arm might well be fractured. Whatever it was though, I'd have to tough it out if I lived. But we really had to get out of here.

Hurrying, despite Lilly's groans of protests we moved toward the trees—wounded and separated but alive. The trees close in around us, and I find it easier to move and think out here where I'm used to this place. I want to stop and bandage Lilly's wounds and my own, but we're not safe yet. We'll never be safe again though.

The thought triggers in my mind something I've been trying to avoid. My heart clenches again and I have to steady myself with my axe for a moment. Who had died at the bloodbath? And was Nella one of them?


	40. Carve Your Initials

**Hey, Phoenix Refrain here! I wanted to give you a little insight into the inner workings of _Tears of Blood__. _Each writer has to have a grasp/understanding of the other author's character enough to be able to accurately portray that character in their chapter. There's conversation and approval that goes on so that each character lives up to it's creator's standard. So we truly have to work together on this. **

**As for staff, this is how things are working right now: We meet to discuss things. Issues with the story, inconsistencies, plot direction, due dates, and deaths-plus more stuff. We're actively discussing the Quarter Quell now. The next "set" of chapters is largely due by the 30th of this month-three days from now. After each chapter is in, we will sit down together after reading them (while taking reviews into account and reliability of author-note that a author is NEVER punished for actively communicating and letting us know that something is wrong with their chapter like it got deleted or if they could send it in a day or to late. The only people that reliability will count against is those who don't tell us anything and just turn stuff in late. We realize that people are busy but as the characters start dwindling-the time between each chapter grows shorter. If you can't communicate with us, then you can't go on.)**

**So after all the chapters are in, we'll sit down and discuss who is moving on. Initially we were going to use polls, but we have decided against it. The criteria will be based on the things above. You want to make a difference about a tribute living then review! We want the games winner to be PLAUSIBLE. We want this Hunger Games to be amazing. By setting dates to turn in chapters and urging our authors to FIGHT for their tributes survival-we know how bad they and their tribute want it. Show down to the death? Yes.**

**And believe you me. People are really stepping up. I can't wait to show you!**

**So in short, nobody knows who wins yet.**

**Also, we respond to every review and favorite. It's a new part of our administration-so we're quite a bit behind. We're just doing the ones since we took over. We've regulated updates. We've got a serious direction going. And we've really got our stat risings. Keep spreading the word!**

**Remember...**

**Coming soon**

**Quarter Quell Summer 2012**

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><p><em>If you would take a man's life, you owe it to him to look into his eyes and hear his final words. And if you cannot bear to do that, then perhaps the man does not deserve to die. – Eddard Stark, Game of Thrones<em>

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><p><em>Hyre Fletching, District 2<em>

_By Falconflight_

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><p>I come to another dead end in the maze. I swear underneath my breath and turn around again. This seems like all my life is now: a dead end. A wrong turn; a poor choice. I clench my teeth and push the thoughts on my own insecurities out of my head; I can't focus on that now. I need to find the other Careers, and I need to get out of this damn maze.<p>

My guilty conscience will not let me forget that easily, though. The feelings of regret will not be abated so quickly; the guilty thoughts weave their way into my brain and send me into a torrent of flashbacks. I can see the fear etched into her pale green eyes all over again; I remember the silent scream of terror caught on her lips. Pictures of the blood blossoming from the wounds flash past my eyes, and there's nothing I can do to block them.

_That girl would have died in the Bloodbath anyway,_I tell myself.

The way she died is the most gruesome aspect of the memory. I remember the sword that I had discarded shortly after killing her and how it had clumsily hacked her arm off. My entire body begins to shake as I recall the blood pouring from stump and the animal-like screams of pain.

_I told her I was sorry,_I remember. I hadn't been sure why I told her that just before killing her. What good would my apologizes do her on the brink of death?

_She was too young and innocent to be in these Games,_I think as the memory fades. _She has a loving family back home; she had something to return to._

It's not the first time today that I think: _It should have been me._It had been one of my immediate thoughts after killing her, and despite how hard I have tried to push it out of my head and instead focused on surviving, it always manages to come back and invade my mind. I know it's true, though. I am the unloved monster; she was the innocent girl with a life back home.

_Are you proud of me yet, Dad?_I wonder, gritting my teeth. _I killed a girl whose name I don't know. Do you love the murderer I have become more than the pathetic son you had before?_

I can feel my anger rising. I feel like Dad has made me a killer. He was the one who drove me into the Games to prove myself. He is the reason I am here, and a part of me knows that he still isn't proud of me. I am still a failure; it doesn't matter to him. It makes the girl's death seem even more worthless.

"Are you happy?" I demand aloud, unable to contain my anger and frustration any longer. "ARE YOU HAPPY NOW?"

I am answered by silence. Of course there's no response; I'm not sure why I expected one. If anything, my shouting has alerted my enemies, and something in my gut is telling me that someone else heard. I stay still, listening intently for footsteps or other signs of someone approaching. After a few seconds, I can hear shouting.

"Hey! That girl was mine for the killing!" someone shouts.

_Onyx._Relief floods my chest. _She's alive. But who is she shouting at?_I go over the list of people that Onyx had fought with over the last few days. It was a rather large list.

"Aww. You learned how to talk," someone else replies in a mocking tone. "Good girl! Good doggie!"

_Aleah._Her distinctive teasing voice grates against my ears. How could a person take so much pleasure from the misfortune and shame of another?

"What the –?" Onyx begins.

"Where are those mongrel friends of yours?" Aleah interrupts.

"Shut up, Armani, or I'll slit your throat right now!" Onyx snarls.

"Ooh, big talk Marshal. Why don't you come over here and we'll see where you really deserved that eleven in training?" Aleah taunts.

Fear is beginning to climb into my chest as I slowly edge towards the sound of their scuffle. _Onyx can handle her. She can handle anything._That doesn't stop me from worrying as I creep towards the sound of their voices.

I head a thud. "Bad dogs are always punished, pooch." Aleah's lofty voice drifts towards me, closer now. "And you're no different." She pauses, and I can picture the snake-like grin on her lips. "Maybe carving my initials into your back will remind you not to mess with me."

I panic. I abandon all caution and start running. I have to save Onyx; I can't let Aleah kill her. I charge around a corner, but I suddenly stop as I stare at the sight in front of me. Aleah stands over Onyx with one foot pushing her into the ground, and she's pressing a knife into Onyx's skin. Onyx notices me, and I can see the fear in her eyes that she tries so hard to hide.

I pull out a wooden spear from the basket of them that is attached to my back and aim at Aleah's heart. She notices me before I can throw, though, and I watch as the serpent-like smirk widen. "I remember you," she announces. "This is your boyfriend, right, doggie?" she asks, addressing Onyx.

"Shut the fuck up," Onyx snapped back. Her voice is raspy and not as strong as usual.

"Oh, this is so great!" Aleah exclaimed like a giddy child eagerly waiting to receive birthday presents. "Now, I wonder which one of you will cry more seeing the other die. Hmm…" In a flash, her knife is no longer against Onyx's back but pressed to her throat. "Drop your weapon unless you want me to put down your bitchy girlfriend."

I stare at her for a second. Is she serious? The sunlight glints on the metal of the knife and reminds me that yes, she is absolutely serious. She is okay with killing; she doesn't care. If I don't intervene, she's going to kill Onyx. What can I do, though? One move towards her, and she's going to pull that knife across Onyx's throat.

Luckily, I don't have to do anything. Onyx grabs Aleah's arm and forces her hand away. Onyx isn't strong enough to flip Aleah over, but she throws her off. I can't help but smile admiringly as Onyx scrambles to her feet and grabs her discarded knife.

"You wouldn't fight two Careers, would you?" Onyx threatens.

"Careers? Where?" Aleah looks around with fake nervousness painted on her face. "All I see is an injured bitch and her pathetic master."

With a cry of fury, Onyx throws herself at Aleah again. Aleah turns, smirking, and runs deeper into the maze. I catch Onyx's arm before she can pursue Aleah into the mess of hedges and turns.

"Don't chase her," I warn her. "It's what she wants."

Onyx struggles in my grasp, and for a moment, I am afraid she is going to hit me. I can feel her relax, though, and she scowls with defeat. "She took my prize," she mutters as we start walking back into the maze.

I blink, confused. "What?"

"She killed Maia." Onyx clenches her fists angrily. "I would have completely destroyed that bitch, and she just came in and took away my only kill!"

I pause. "Wait, you haven't killed anyone?" I am surprised. After all the talk about killing tributes in the Games, it was sort of shocking to hear that she hadn't killed anyone this far into the Bloodbath.

_I have, though,_a quiet voice whispers in my ear.

"Shut up!" she snaps defensively. "Have you killed anyone yet?"

_Yes._"No," I lie. "I injured Aspen from District 7, though."

Onyx purses her lips as if she is evaluating my skill. "He's part of the Anti-Career alliance, right?" I nod. "Good job, then. I hope you managed to slow down those assholes."

Suddenly, someone runs out in front of us. It's a male tribute from somewhere; his pale brown eyes are wide with fear. I see Onyx grin maliciously. "I've got this," she says.

"Wai –" But whatever plead he is about to make dies with him as Onyx chucks her knife at him. The knife lands in his stomach, and I flinch as he falls to the ground. Onyx crouches down and pulls out the knife. She stares at the blood that now coats the metal with a bizarre fascination.

"I did it," she whispers. I can see her quivering with excitement. "I did it!" She stands up and starts dancing around happily. "I did it! I'm a killer!"

"Congratulations," I mutter, unable to keep my disgust out of my voice.

Onyx stops her victory dance and stares at me, frowning. "What's wrong?"

"He didn't even put up a fight," I explain. "It wasn't right of you to kill him."

Onyx glares at me. "He would have died soon anyway, and it doesn't matter whether it was right to do it or not. I'm going to do whatever I have to do to get you back home safely."

I stop and stare at her, though she keeps walking. She too stops and turns around. She folds her arms and continues glaring at me. "What?"

"You said 'you'," I answer. "'I'm going to do whatever I have to do to get _you_back home safely.'"

I can see a blush crawling to her pale cheeks. "You're hearing things," she snaps dismissively. "Now come on; there are still some tributes here, and I don't intend on letting them all escape into the arena unscathed."

Onyx breaks into a jog, and I am forced to start running in order to keep up with her. Somehow, she knows her way back into the maze and towards the Cornucopia better than I had. She never once leads me to a dead end, which I am grateful for. To my surprise, we don't run into any tributes, dead or alive. The only proof that anyone was ever here is the blood that stains the grass and paints the hedges.

Then, we run into another tribute. It's a female this time, with chestnut brown hair and olive-colored skin. She looks sort of familiar, but I can't put a name on her. Onyx, however, recognizes her and stares at a small journal that she has clutched to her chest.

"Do you want me to publish your works after I kill you?" Onyx taunts.

The girl's pupils dilate with fear, and her grasp on the journal tightens. Onyx laughs mockingly and charges at her, dagger out. The girl squeaks and jumps to the side at the last minute, so Onyx ends up grazing her arm instead of running her through with the dagger. Onyx turns around, fury burning in her hazel eyes. She is about to strike again, but the girl takes off running again, and I restrain Onyx from going after her.

"Don't go after her," I warn her. "She's not worth it, and we need to catch up with the rest of the group."

Onyx spits in the direction that she ran off and turns back to me. "Do you think I should have spared her too?" she asks. "She got a seven for her training score, and she's carrying an axe. You can't say that she's not a threat."

"She wasn't attacking you, though," I remind her.

"She could have," Onyx argues.

"I could attack you too," I retort. "I could kill you right now if I wanted to."

"No you couldn't," Onyx replies dismissively.

I raise an eyebrow at her. "I couldn't?"

Now, she's smirking. She leans in close and stands on her toes. She puts her arms around my shoulders and pulls me closer to her. Her lips are practically against mine. "You like me too much," she whispers, her mouth hovering an inch in front of mine.

"You're probably right," I agree, smiling slightly.

"Hyre, dear, I'm _always_right," Onyx assures me, tracing a hand down my chest and pressing her lips to mine.

Admittedly, I've never kissed a girl before, but I wonder if it would have felt the same as this did. It feels so _right_, like our lips were two pieces of a puzzle that were meant to fit together. It feels so good.

Onyx pulls away, smirking. "I bet you're a better kisser than your brother," she says.

"Well, when you win, do me a favor and don't find out," I reply. Jaime's offer to Onyx also haunted my memory. The fact that he would go so far to try and destroy me was very disheartening, but the worst part is that I _can_believe he would do it.

"When I win?" Onyx echoes. Her voice seems different; less seductive and playful and more… depressed.

"Yeah, when you win," I repeat. "You're going to win, Onyx."

Onyx looks down at her feet. When she looks back up, her hazel eyes are shinning. Is she crying? "Hyre…" Her voice cracks. "I'm not going to win."

I open my mouth to protest, but suddenly, she forces something into my hand. It is small and sort of cylindrical, but I'm not quite sure what it is. She grabs my hand with a vice-like grip, and before I can do anything, she pulls me forward and kisses me again. When she pulls away and I see the blood on her shirt, I realize what the object in my hand was: her knife.

I catch her just before she falls to the ground, and I stare at the blood pouring from the wound with horror. "Onyx, damn it, what did you do?" I look around, desperately searching for some bandages or a first aid kit or _something._

"I'm tired of being a monster, Hyre," she whispers. "When _you_win, you do _me_a favor and tell Mason that I love him."

I shake my head; I can feel tears welling up in my eyes. "No, Onyx. I can't. You can't ask me to do this. You have to live."

"How can I continue to live when I can't live with myself?" she asks. "I told you: I'm tired of playing the role of the demon. You are good and pure, and you deserve to win more than any of the other assholes here."

_No I don't,_I think. _Just because I don't like killing doesn't mean I'm not a killer._I don't say that, though. I have to hear Onyx's last words; they may be the only part of her I get to keep.

"Promise me you'll win for me," she commands. All I can do is nod. "Now promise me you'll never forget how much I love you."

My entire body is shaking. "I… I will never forget," I stammer through the knot in my throat.

"Good."

Onyx smiles. It is odd to see a smile on her face that's not a smirk or a seductive grin. The smile seems content, and it looks out of place on her. And yet, for some reason, it makes her face seems complete for once. It seems like there have always been pieces of her missing, but now, she seems whole.

"I love you," she murmurs.

"I love you too," I answer, feeling the tears begin to slide down my cheeks.

Then, Onyx is still. A part of me wants to believe that this is all a nightmare, that the girl from 9 and Onyx are all still alive. I know it's not true, though. This is reality; the girl I love is dead.

I hold her body close to mine; the warmth is fading fast from her corpse. I can't bear to let go of her, though. Not yet. I sit there in the dwindling light, letting silent tears fall to the ground and holding her to me.

When I finally feel comfortable moving again, I slowly lower Onyx's body to the ground. I crouch down and close her eyes. Now, she almost looks happy. Then, I unclasp the locket that Mason gave her. I know that it should probably be sent to him with the body, but I need something to remember Onyx now. I need it to help me through my grief; I will give it back when I can bear to part with it.

With the locket in hand, I stand up again and walk away. My thoughts briefly travel to the other members of the Career pack; I wonder where they are, if they left without me. I won't mind too much if they did; at this point, I would honestly prefer to walk alone than with them now. My thoughts are cut in half by a sudden acrid smell that floods towards me from the maze. That's when I see flames dancing on the top of a hedge further in; the arena is on fire.

_Damn it, Roy,_I think, knowing that he would be the only one still in the maze and stupid enough to do something like this. The fire seems to be getting closer, and I know I have to hurry and find the rest of the Careers. Though I didn't want to admit it out loud, the best place to start looking for them was near the fire if Roy had started it.

_Damn it,_I think again as I begin to approach the center of the maze.

Before long, the stench of the smoke is overwhelming. It clogs my nose and burns my eyes, but I force myself to continue braving through it. I need to find the rest of the group. It is getting increasingly difficult, though. A bright inferno has consumed most of the hedges, and any green left has all but disappeared. The hedges next to me suddenly burst into flame; I can feel the heart radiating from either side of me. I break into a run and turn around a corner. Everything is ablaze; the maze has been swallowed by the swirling orange and yellow flames. I can see places where the hedges have completely burned to ash.

I hear a yelp of pain. It sounds high-pitched and female. I instantly worry that it is one of my allies, and I claw through the smoke towards the noise. I see a girl with curly brown hair and amber eyes. She has a bleeding cut on her arm. Elia is standing in front of her, clutching a trident that is dripping with blood. Though there is no trace of fear in the girl's eyes, her pupils dilate slightly when she sees me. She turns suddenly and dashes through a gap in the hedges created by the fire. One of the legs of her pants catches on fire, but she ignores it and keeps running.

I open my mouth to ask Elia where the other Careers are, but the smoke floods my mouth, and I end up coughing instead. Her green eyes are full of concern, but she seems to be staring at my shirt. I look down and realize that it's soaked in blood. _Onyx's blood._I have to fight to keep the feeling in my chest from rising, and I shake my head to tell her that it isn't my blood. She seems to understand, and she starts running. I follow her, assuming that she will lead me to the rest of the Careers.

The fire has mostly moved on now; the hedges have been reduced to smoldering piles of ashes. The smoke still rises from the ashen clumps and stings my eyes, and I grunt in pain as I accidentally step on the remains of a hedge. The heat goes straight through the material of my shoe and burns my foot.

"What –" I cough before I can get the sentence out. "What did I miss?"

"Not much," Elia answers. Her voice sounds just as raspy as mine. "We all met up and decided to make sure there weren't any tributes lingering in the maze." She coughs loudly. "Roy had the idea of flushing them out with fire."

"Isn't that dangerous?" I demand, slightly shocked by Roy's lack of concern for the safety of others.

"I don't think he cares anymore," Elia admits. "Not now that Skye is dead, anyway."

I frown. "Really?"

Elia nods. "According to Claus, she was killed by Lilly from District 11."

_So Onyx wasn't the only Career to die. I bet Roy didn't have to kill her, though._ My throat begins to constrict again, and I try to force the thought out of my head.

Luckily, I don't have to dwell on those thoughts for long because we have reached the makeshift Career camp. I spot a giant pile of stuff gathered from the Cornucopia; Claus and Boston are both guarding it. Jules is sitting on the ground a couple feet away, fiddling with some contraption. Roy has started a fire in the middle of the "camp" and is currently staring into it, motionless.

Elia clears her throat to announce her arrival. "I found Hyre, and I checked the maze. It's completely burnt down. The tributes are all gone, as far as I can tell."

Claus still looks doubtful. "Where's Onyx?"

There is a stretched silence. "Onyx i –" The words catch in my throat, and I can't bring myself to force them out.

Unfortunately, I've said enough to pique the interest of my fellow Careers. Everyone stares at me, expecting me to finish my sentence. Except for Roy; he continues to stare into the depths of the fire.

"Onyx is dead." I'm not sure where I found the courage to say it. I know that as soon as I say them, I regret it.

"What?" Roy asks. His head whips around from the fire, and I can see his cat-like pupils dilate slightly.

I clear my throat, trying to push down the feelings of guilt and regret. "Onyx is dead," I repeat.

"How?" He stands up and walks over to me.

"I'm not sure," I lie. I am too cowardly to face the truth.

Roy doesn't stop staring, though. His yellowish eyes don't leave me, and I feel as if they are carving holes into me. Finally, he sighs and looks away, his head hung down. He walks away and sits back down in front of his fire.

There is another long silence. "Has anyone killed anyone?"

"I killed Vaughn." Everyone turns and looks at Boston, who is standing dutifully by the pile of supplies. He had joined the Careers to increase our numbers, but it seems like he could be capable enough to kill a person. It's also odd to hear him speak.

I wait for Roy or Elia to say something, but she remains silent. I stare at my companions; was I really the only one who killed two people? Guilt begins to rise in my heart again, and my chest feels heavy again.

"I… I think Onyx killed Clude," I mutter, desperate to say something to distract me.

No one responds, and there is silence again. Elia walks away towards the supplies, and I continue standing, unable to gather the willpower required to move. My chest feels too heavy, and my throat is too constricted and dry. My entire body is numb with shock and grief, and my mind is aching from trying to sort through everything that had happened today. Could a person's life really change so much in a number of hours?

_Yes,_I decide.

Somehow, I end up sitting on the other side of the fire. The way the orange flames dance on the dry brown wood is mesmerizing, almost hypnotic. It is so much easier to just stare at the flames as they flicker back and forth than to try and sift through everything that had happened. It feels sort of like forgetting.

"So how did Onyx actually die?"

I look up and see Roy sitting beside me. I stare at him and quickly go over my options. I could continue lying, or I could tell him the truth. For some reason, I am tempted to tell him the truth. After all, he lost Skye. He knows what I'm going through, right?

"She gave me a knife," I begin, my voice trembling, "and before I could process anything, she… she kissed me and drove the knife through her stomach. She said…" I want to stop, but I force myself to keep going. "She said that she was tired of being a monster. She died in my arms." Roy is silent. "How did she die?"

Roy doesn't waste time pretending that he doesn't know who I'm talking about.. "Lilly Cross, from District 11, killed her. She also died in my arms."

We don't speak; we just stare at each other. I can see that there is an unspoken bond formed between the two of us. We have both lost people we loved. I now understand him on a level that I never imagined possible.

Roy stands up and walks away. I watch him leave, and I wonder if he really is such a bad person. He may be arrogant and dangerous as hell, but that doesn't stop me from thinking that there is a chance he is a better person than what I originally made him out to be.

He turns back to me. "We'll be leaving out in a couple minutes. Be ready to leave then."

I nod affirmatively. I'm not that hungry, though. I'm mostly just tired. Tired of fighting, tired of running, tired of killing, tired of heartbreak. I unconsciously run my finger along edge of Onyx's locket. I stop when I hear something click. The locket suddenly springs open, revealing a picture of Onyx's parents and a small note folded several times to fit into the silver locket. A sudden gust of wind hits, and the note is jerked away by the breeze. I watch as it spirals into the air. It's beginning to open a bit now, and I can make out Onyx's neat handwriting. As it approaches the light of the fire, I can who the letter is addressed to: me. I watch as it moves dangerously close to the fire before suddenly bursting into flame and falling. As it burns, I wonder what the letter could have possibly said.

_Maybe it's better this way,_I think as the piece of paper curls and blackens in the flames. _Maybe it's easier not to know._

"It's time to leave."

I look up and see Roy looming over me. I stand up. "Let's go."

As we walk off, I hear six cannons fire in rapid succession.

_The Bloodbath is over,_I think. _The Games have begun._


	41. You're Hopeless

We do have a oneshot, but it wasn't posted because...fanfiction was an arse and wasn't alerting. It's not fair to the death one shots to get less attention. It'll be put up next Thursday more than likely!

Also, we recently experience someone stealing our story on Wattpad. Thanks to a lovely reviewer, we found out about that and through research found out that the lovely Frenzied Warrior was a victim of theft too!

Theft is bad people! And we shall descend upon stealers like a flock of angry tracker jackers and target the center of pain and fear in your body.

*cough* Erm, sorry about that! Anyways! Let's see what time is it? OH, it's career hunting time!

Next update fanfiction willing will be Tuesday!

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><p>Isabuggs:<p>

Present tense will be the death of me. GAH. A couple flashbacks are in past-tense, though. Enjoy~

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><p><strong>Roy Rousseau, District 1<strong>

**By Isabugg**

* * *

><p><em>"How can I escape<br>__from all these demons  
><em>_in my head?"_

—Unknown

* * *

><p><span>Launch<span>

It was so easy.

So agonizingly, cripplingly easy.

Once the gong had ripped through the arena, the rubber soles of my black boots squeaking against my launch pad as I coolly stepped off of it, an object had beckoned me within the blades of grass fluttering in the breeze.

I could hear the sounds of chaos around me—maniacal laughter, wailing, sobs—but it seemed as if I was isolated between towering, leafy hedges, so thick and dense that they might as well have been made out of stone. Turning my head up, I could just peer over the trimmed foliage, observing how the hedges writhed in several directions and made up a maze, and in the middle of it, glinting so brightly in the sun that it stained my vision with various blotches of color, was the great golden Cornucopia.

My shoulders tensed as I let my eyes slowly slink back to the object set directly in front of my launch pad, knowing that the Gamemakers had probably done it deliberately, maybe as some kind of cruel joke.

There, clearly seen amongst the never-ending swathe of green around me, was a small box—blank, white, and slightly worn—with a thin cardboard flap at the top. I let my eyebrows furrow and my lips purse as I almost tentatively made my way over to it, my back arching and my black arena clothing brushing against my scarred skin as a cool breeze snaked through the narrow pathways of the maze.

My calloused fingers wrapped around the box before I swiftly flipped the top open with my thumb, and even though I had already known what was inside of it, I still couldn't seem to stop the paralyzing jolt that twisted through my bones once my eyes had raked over the contents.

Matches.

My fingers were unsteady, the bones in them quivering uncontrollably as I plucked one of the flimsy wooden sticks from where it was fastened and carefully studied it, my eyes squinting and my lower lip wavering before I impatiently bit down on it.

It had all been a blur from there, a mess of reds, oranges, and yellows, all swirling like translucent ribbons in my vision. My throat burned as I began to suck in the familiar scent of smoke, and I began to choke, hacking into my white palms as I took a few staggering steps backward. I could feel myself trembling, like a shaken leaf fluttering frantically in a rough breeze, and as I scraped a panicked hand through my disheveled locks of crimson hair in an effort to get the wisps out of my eyes, the tightly knotted muscles in my chest had quickly unwoven themselves until I felt nauseous, as if my stomach was doing weak somersaults inside my torso.

A wall of greenery, what had once been a hedge so massive that it looked like it was piercing the azure stretch of the sky with its leafy tips, was now consumed by flames, the foliage quickly turning black in the roaring inferno.

With an almost frightened, frenzied feeling twitching through my veins, I wrenched my gaze upon the small box of matches in my hand, the cardboard now wrinkled from the tightness of my grip. I wanted to throw it on the ground, to take off running and forget that I had anything to do with the blazing fire licking and consuming everything in its reach, but I knew that that wouldn't be expected of a Career. Of a pyromaniac. Of Roy Rousseau.

Swallowing the built-up panic and terror that had been thrashing in my chest, I rammed the matches into my belt and took off running, the scars helixing my forearms prickling insistently until I felt sick.

The fire had been too easy to start.

Too easy.

And it was all my fault.

* * *

><p><span>Present<span>

_We're district partners. It's good that we like each other._

Even now, as I'm standing at the edge of the Cornucopia with my shoulders slumped waiting for Jules, Hyre, Elia, Claus, and Boston to pack their belongings and arm themselves, I only have one thing on my mind.

That particular thing _ruined_ me, destroyed everything that I had built for myself before being reaped. It chipped away the iron defense I had built around my heart and made all my pent up emotions flare out of my chest with the quickness and relentlessness of fire. That _thing_ left my mind crippled and bleeding, a mere fraction of what it was before, weak and blubbering.

_Every time I talk to you, you look like you're in pain. Like you're stopping yourself from saying something that you really want to say._

...And yet, I love that thing.

I love it with every inch of my being. I love it so much that my heart writhes in my chest at just the thought of it.

It isn't a _thing_ at all; it is a girl, a girl with golden ringlets of hair cascading down her petite shoulders and eyes like azure sapphires, deep enough to drown in. But if I thought of her as anything else but a _thing_, a thing that is responsible for the sharp ache in my chest, I find that it's much more difficult to swallow down the agony she has left in me.

_We'll stick together._

I swallow hard, biting the inside of my cheek until I feel a satisfying _crunch _between my teeth. The rusty taste of blood slicks itself across my tongue, and the bow of my shoulders immediately loosens. I part my lips and inhale deeply, feeling the cool air slither through my constricted throat, my yellow irises slinking toward the Cornucopia.

Its golden surface seems somewhat dulled in the dark, like it's made of obsidian, dotted with the shining reflection of the stars above us. Tufts of burnt grass line the dirt around it, char and ash streaking the ground in ominously beautiful swirls, the remnants of what I had done.

A flourish of warm brass sounds whisks through the night air, a lighthearted tune meant to be the Capitol's anthem that is as delicate as it is furious, like being punched in the stomach with a handful of roses. Everyone in the Cornucopia seems to simultaneously raise their heads toward the sky, the glitter of the stars reflecting down with a bright radiance on their skin, and a rectangular screen flickers to life in place of the moon. The death recaps.

I brace myself at the sight of the Capitol seal—a stone bird with its wings outstretched at its sides, each feather carved harshly into its surface. The muscles in my stomach snarl wildly together once I see the seal vanish, knowing what's coming next, but somehow still not prepared for it in the slightest.

An image of Skye appears on the screen, her golden hair curling lightly over her small shoulders and her plump lips tautened into a slight grin, and I immediately feel as if I am drowning at the sight of her, my lungs burning and my air coming out in wheezy huffs. _District 1_ shines brightly underneath her, the letters luminescent in the night, and I can't help but wonder how everyone back home feels about her death—the mysterious girl no one had known before the reaping, the naïve tribute who had spent most of her days in a basement with nothing but an assortment of blades for comfort.

We were supposed to stick together. I was supposed to take her through the games, making sure not a single scratch touched her porcelain skin. But I failed. Just like I do with everything else.

I remember the opening seconds of the bloodbath, how a box of matches was set right in front of my launchpad, like the Gamemakers knew that it simply wasn't in my nature to resist them. I remember hearing the crackle of fire not long after picking them up and examining them, the heat of it slithering against my skin as it devoured the leafy walls of the maze. I remember feeling a pang of fear in my chest at the sight of it, my mind clouded with utter disbelief, as if the fact that I was only capable of destruction still managed to surprise me.

I remember finally taking my last steps out of the maze, the bottoms of my boots slamming against the dirt as I zipped out of its tightly-woven hedges and my palms clasped in front of my mouth as I felt the fire's smoke twist into my airways. I remember seeing that poor, pitiful male tribute from District 3, feeling as if the cameras' lenses around the arena had an actual weight against my skin as I halfheartedly made my way toward him, fists clenched as I studied the growing fright in his widened eyes.

I thought of his name—Mack. I thought of how he probably had a family watching, and how they had to see how he was paralyzed with terror in response to me advancing toward him.

Was I really that scary? Was it really _me _that locked his bones in place, that sent panic surging through his veins, even though I was probably the only Career without a substantial weapon in my hands?

I felt my mouth twist as I grabbed a hold of his wrist and tossed him into the crackling inferno of the maze, my eyebrows furrowed and my teeth clenched so tightly that my jaw ached.

I remember not throwing him hard enough. I remember seeing him frantically pick himself up out of the corner of my eye, slapping a hand against the small flickers of fire caught on his arena clothing to smother them before they could consume him entirely, taking off in the direction of the forest's cover.

And I remember pretending not to notice as I ran in the opposite direction.

Wisps of my red hair are gathering in front of my eyes, the ends of them flitting in the slight breeze, and I bring a hand up to impatiently rake them out of the way. I feel the thickness of soot and smoke residue across the brim of my cheeks, the blackness of it smearing against my white palm.

My fault.

I find myself absently wondering how many people that fire ravaged, how many people it killed.

Maybe if it hadn't been for that fire, for the smoke billowing through the air in thick, dark coils, I could've gotten to the Cornucopia in time. Maybe I wouldn't have had to deal with Mack, and maybe I could've gotten to Skye before...before—

"It's over," a deep voice murmurs from the horn, making me blink in the direction of it. Hyre stares back at me almost skeptically, his skin now barely visible in the gloom of the night after the screen carrying the faces of the dead blipped out of existence. He brings his hand to the zipper of his arena jacket and zips it to his throat, but not before I see the flash of a blade winking through the dark fabric. "The death recaps are over."

I lean lazily against the trunk of a tree, feeling its rough bark poke through my arena shirt. "Who died?"

"You weren't watching?" Elia spurts aggressively, her eyebrows raising with a mixture of annoyance and disbelief.

Tightening my lips, I give my shoulders a light shrug. "Oops."

I hear a trilling groan, and I divert my gaze in the direction of it, only to see Jules exasperatedly standing herself up and stretching her slender arms above her head. "The tubby one from 6, the bendy one from 8, the little girl from 9, the males from 11 and 12..." She clears his throat. "And, uh, Onyx and Skye."

Elia lets out a harsh breath of laughter. "It's a good thing we have Jules around to actually pay attention to things. Maybe _she _should be the leader."

I slide my hand into my hair, feeling the red locks glide between my fingers before I clench my fist and grip the strands sternly. "Yeah, sure. Whatever," I mutter, "You guys can make all sorts of elaborate plans to overthrow me later, but in the meantime, would you all kindly hurry your asses up?" My hand goes to my collarbone as I quietly clear my throat, feeling my pulse frantically flutter there underneath the thin, goosebump-covered coating of my skin. Tentatively, I lace my fingers together before shifting my wrists forward and cracking my knuckles, the pops of my joints jabbing through the quiet of the night.

I hear the buzzing of backpacks being zipped closed and the rustling of them being slung over shoulders. Jules seems more shaken after what Elia said, but she composedly glides across the Cornucopia and arms herself with small things instead of the blades and spears most Careers would go for—wires, sheets of plastic, handfuls of string—and I can't help but eye them with slight interest.

"Typical," Elia jeers, making me shift my gaze at her narrowing eyes and the throwing knife spinning quickly between her fingers. Her full mouth tightens into a half-smile. "I see you checking Jules out. Back to your old self so quickly, huh? I wonder what Skye saw in you, if anything."

I feel myself visibly stiffen, as if her words were an actual knife to my chest, and I have to turn myself around completely in order for her to not see the pain strewn across my features in response to the mention of...that _thing_.

"Let's not delve into personal matters, shall we?" I curtly utter over my shoulder.

I raise my voice so everyone can hear it slashing toward their eardrums. "Come on. We want to hunt when it's darkest and coldest. It'll be too late when the sun starts rising." I pause, hearing the rustle of backpacks and the _shing_ of blades being torn out of their sheaths. "Claus, you stay behind and keep watch over the Cornucopia." Craning my neck, I see that the District 5 boy's eyes had widened under his mess of straw-colored hair, and I feel a stab of guilt once Boston walks over to him and gives him a comforting pat on the head, as if saying, _Don't let that jackass get to you._

Hesitantly, I shift my neck to send my gaze elsewhere before swallowing hard and feeling my Adam's apple slide down the pale expanse of my throat. The breeze is picking up, and it feels light and icy against my bare forearms, like a thin sheet of frozen drapery flowing across my skin.

Elia takes a couple more moments to shove handfuls of small throwing knives in her belt, her tendrils of scarlet hair spilling across her shoulder blades and sweeping across her hairline in the direction of the wind. Jules seems lost in thought, the bridge of her upturned nose crinkled and her full lips pursed. I notice Boston taking quiet steps away from Claus, the muscles in his meaty arms tautened to the point where it looks like his flesh is twined with iron.

"Ready when you are."

A low, warm voice, its throatiness like quiet static against my eardrums, sounds from behind me. I coolly turn on my heel to see Hyre, his chestnut hair windswept and his arms crossed protectively in front of his chest, as if he still didn't trust me enough to leave any openings while I was in arms-reach, even after our little heart-to-heart about Onyx and...the thing.

I smirk, and I can't help but notice how much it makes my cheeks hurt. "Good boy," I murmur under my breath, the muscles in my face strained, "Good. Loyal. I like that."

I see his eyebrows furrow with a mixture of confusion and irritation before I turn away and break into the cover of the trees, making sure to make my steps loud and my spine straight—the ideal demeanor of Roy Rousseau. Exactly what the world expects out of me.

The tumble of footsteps comes from behind, and I feel the foliage around me shake as the rest of the pack follows in my steps. The moon shines brightly above us with a sort of grayish gleam, the color looking eerily like decaying flesh as it shines through the leafy canopy of the forest. It casts moving, diamond-like shadows across the powdery, vine-laced dirt, making it glow with a delicate sort of beauty before my boots come crashing down on it. Destroying it. Like I do with everything else.

"Hey, Pyro," a chirrup voice whispers from behind, piercing its way into my thoughts.

A chill racks down my spine at the nickname—_Pyro_—and I have to tightly clench my jaw in order to keep a straight face as I crane my neck in response to it. "Hmm?"

Elia's seafoam-green eyes seem sharp in the darkness, like the flash of a blade. "Forget to arm yourself? Smart. Nice to know us Careers are in such good hands."

With a sigh, I pluck the box of matches from my belt before wordlessly holding it up for her to see, its cardboard surface now thoroughly creased and worn. I knew she meant an actual weapon, not just a bunch of flammable sticks, but I've never been handy with anything larger than my palm. I would never tell her that, though. She would never let me forget it.

Taking long strides to match my pace, Elia sweeps herself to my side before bringing one of her white palms to her belt, the black fabric making her appear paler than she already is, her red hair redder. She whips out a knife, the moonlight bursting off its blade in jagged shards as she masterfully twists it in her grip and holds the handle out to me. "I'm all for burning people alive, but this'll be quicker." Her eyes squint into slits. "And less..._showy._"

I feel the corner of my mouth perk into a halfhearted grin before I reach out and wrap my fingers around the knife's hilt, the rubber of it molding to the shape of my palm. "Thanks, sweetheart," I say, and she shoots me a glare from under her crimson tresses. I combat it with an amused arch of my eyebrows. "Even though I should be hurt that you won't let me be _who I am_ and all that soulful nonsense."

She groans, the tips of her eyelashes brushing against her eyebrows as her exasperated gaze flits up toward the treetops. "Being _who you are_ won't get us through the arena."

"Oh really?" I gripe, theatrically widening my yellow eyes at her. "And here I thought I could just activate my fire powers and ride the flames with a surfboard. How disappointing."

I see the glint of Elia's glare before strained, hushed voices slither into my eardrums from behind, making my mischievous grin falter as I quickly pivot on my heel in the direction of the disturbances.

Boston's rumbly voice stands out from the rest, his hard murmurings of, "What are you doing here?" and "Go back to the Cornucopia before Roy sees you" wriggling through the chill of the night air. He is hunched over in a group of the other Career members, his curls of dark hair seen clearly against Hyre's and Jules' light sienna locks.

"Before Roy sees who?" I ask, squinting my eyes speculatively as I composedly make my way over to them, the soles of my boots making scratching noises against the gravel of the dirt. Elia stays behind, and I can almost feel her disapproving scowl bore into the back of my head.

Each of their shoulders twitch upward in surprise, apparent even in the gloom of the night. Hyre is the first to crane his neck to give me an almost bored look of acknowledgement, his hands rammed into the pockets of his arena pants and his wrist skimming lightly over the polished wood of a spear. "Don't hurt him," he warns, almost mechanically, "He's just a kid."

I feel a crack rake itself across the mask of apathy I had been using to shroud myself, my mouth quivering as a ghostly shudder racks its way through my veins. "Don't hurt him?" I echo, my voice strained. _Of course I won't, _I think."Of course I will," I say, my lips twisting into a crooked grin.

The changes in Hyre and Boston's expressions are almost lightning fast, their collected airs soon riling wildly into enraged ones as they snarl in my direction. Jules hangs quietly in the background as Boston tramps toward me, his booted feet sending ringing echoes through the treetops and scatters of startled birds slashing into the darkened sky. _"Aleah," _he growls, sounding like an animal, "You snake-faced _bitch_." His meaty fingers thrash toward me, tangling themselves in the collar of my shirt before wrenching me forward. "What did you do to my Vienna?"

"Whoa, there, big boy," I chuckle anxiously, holding my hands out protectively, "Vienna? Like the sausages? I know how you feel about meat products, but don't you think this is going a bit too far?"

It takes a moment for my voice to visually register in Boston's mind, and once it does, the pained creases and wrinkles in his face seem to immediately smooth and his vicious glower slips from his otherwise warm eyes. "Roy," he breathes out, airy and barely audible, as if he was just exhaling. He mumbles an apology, seeming severely shaken as he releases his death grip from my shirt and steps submissively away.

I numbly nod in response, hesitantly bringing my palms up to smooth the wrinkles in the fabric of my arena clothing. What the hell was that?

With terrible suddenness, a quiet sob racks through the air, holding a sort of muted and choked sound, as if it was forcing its way through a constricted throat. I turn my head in the direction of it and see what the other Careers were crowded around earlier: Claus, his straw-colored hair tousled in all directions and his features severely contorted in puzzlement.

"Why are you all fighting?" he asks, his voice urgent, "Why are you telling me to go back to the Cornucopia? Aren't we hunting?"

I feel my eyebrows furrow at the sight of him, his hands held tightly in fists at his sides and a thin layer of moisture collecting in front of his cobalt eyes. I take a tentative step toward him, only to see him take a panic-stricken step back, making me remember the knife Elia had given me and how it was still tangled in my grasp for all to see. Swallowing hard, I promptly tuck the weapon away in my belt, right next to the matches, the blade feeling cold against my hip.

"Claus, I told you to keep watch over the Cornucopia," I say in a soft undertone, struggling to make my voice gentle, "Don't you remember?"

Claus' already big eyes widen, making them look strange compared to the rest of his small face before he quickly shakes his head. "No," he whispers harshly, his eyebrows furrowing, "You're just messing with me, like you do with everyone else. You didn't tell me to do _anything_."

A smothering silence falls on us, and I take a few moments to blink quizzically in Claus' direction. "Now, I know I am a master of deception, but I wouldn't—"

"_No!"_ he yowls, the faint sobs apparent in his voice again. I feel my face contort with concern against my will.

A high-pitched breath of dark laughter echoes from behind. "You know you're in a group of crazies when the pyromaniac is one of the sane ones," Elia mumbles, and even with the joking edge of her voice apparent, the sentence still manages to send shudders of worry down my spine.

* * *

><p>Moss left. Onyx died. The...<em>thing<em>—she's gone.

I shift my neck and see Boston and Claus walking by each other's sides, their eyes downcast and their chins set with discomfort. I can already feel myself losing them, too.

"I'm one hell of a Career leader," I mumble to no one in particular, and it's Elia who laughs in response to it.

"Damn right," she says, her timbre high and her voice throaty, "Everyone under your command is either dying or going insane. This must be record-breaking."

I try to smirk in response to it, but I can only feel my mouth weakly wriggle, the bow of my shoulders tensing and the box of matches in my belt suddenly increasing tenfold in weight. "Right," I agree, meaning for my voice to be firm and steady, but instead hearing it slither into the night air as a pathetic, breathy sigh.

The moon hangs high in the sky now, its shine making everything under its gleam glow with a shade of grayish-white. Mist slithers through the air, shrouding everything in a translucent cloak of whiteness and making it difficult to see into the distance.

I didn't have the heart to send Claus back to the Cornucopia—or anyone, for that matter—and so the horn lingered in the center of the burnt remains of the maze unattended, along with our piles of supplies, open for the taking. Just another mistake done under my leadership.

A crash rattles my eardrums, and I turn my head to see that it was Hyre slinging his sword at the trunk of a tree. He takes his hand away from the hilt and lets the weapon hang there by its blade, using his free hands to push his tousled strands of dark hair away from his eyes before squinting through the treetops and into the sky. "There," he breathes, pointing a finger upwards, "Smoke."

I tilt my head toward the sky, and yes, spirals of black smoke are slashing against the pale surface of the moon and writhing into the stars.

"_Another_ fire, Roy, honestly?" Elia groans, and I crane my neck to stare at her incredulously.

"I know I'm amazing, but how is it even possible to light a fire all the way over _there, _especially since I've been with you this entire time?" I gripe, and Elia parts her plump lips to reply, only to be cut off when Hyre tears his sword away from the tree and darts between us, wordlessly taking off toward the smoke.

I follow, quickening my pace to match his, my hair sweeping back across my scalp as cool air wriggles through the strands. I can hear Elia taking a different route, one that involves her tearing through endless layers of foliage, and it's not long before her light footsteps are out of hearing distance. Boston's heavy tread is unmistakably right behind me, and I can only assume the fluttering footfalls accompanying his belongs to Claus and Jules.

My eye catches a flash of light brown hair, a wave of it, the strands curling in all directions in coils and twists. It is immediately followed by the wild rustling of leaves, and before I can even think of following it, Boston and Hyre have already whipped out numerous blades and wreathed their feet in the direction of it. I lurch to a stop, feeling the air around me stir as Claus and Jules zip past my still frame, and I peer through the wall of greenery, only to see Boston holding up a girl—a pretty girl, one with a slender frame and light olive-toned skin—by her throat.

She kicks and squeals, thrashing against his iron grip and making her mane of sienna hair slash all around her torso. Her small hands claw against his, and her thin eyebrows are scrunched into a look so pained and petrified that it is excruciating to look at.

"N-_No!" _she chokes, and it is apparent how constricted her airways are by the hoarseness of her voice. The warm shade of her skin dots with shades of purple and red, and her light eyes are watering, staring blankly at the treetops above her.

Hyre looms beside her, his blade catching the light of the moon and making it gleam in the darkness of the night like the shine of a smile. "Rena Sage," he mutters to no one in particular, and I catch a look at his expression—pained, hesitant, and guilt-ridden. "District 6."

Rena nods her head frantically in response to her name, her kicking subsiding and her toes hovering inches above the dirt. She coughs and hacks and gasps, possibly her attempt at speaking with her throat being crushed by Boston.

Hyre takes a couple steps toward her, letting his dark eyes slide over her frame before tightening his lips sternly. "Sorry," he mouths, raising his sword up. The blade lingers above his head for a moment, catching the light of the moon, before pelting down in a blinding arc toward Rena.

Her amber eyes widen, tears collecting at the sides and hanging off her long eyelashes. She opens her mouth into a gaping O, a silent scream pouring out of her full lips—

And suddenly, Boston falls toward the ground, his features screwed into a look of pain. Rena lands clumsily on her feet before bringing her hands to her now bruised throat and wheezing in a raspy breath, only to have to cough the new air out of her raw airways.

"Boston?" Hyre yelps, almost panic-stricken, and Rena takes the opportunity to turn herself around and dash away, her curls of sienna hair whipping behind her retreating form. Hyre turns in her direction before hissing out a string of curses, forcing himself to stay behind and kneel at Boston's side. "You okay, buddy?"

I hear Boston's strained voice, sounding sick and terrible as it forms the same words he had said to me earlier: "_Snake-faced"_ and_ "Aleah" _and _"Vienna." _

Sucking in a sharp breath, I dart towards them, only catching the sideways glance of Hyre before darting into the foliage in search of Rena. "Take care of Boston!" I yell from above my shoulder before increasing my speed, running in the direction of raspy gasps and snapping twigs.

The unmistakable sound of Rena retching onto the dirt wriggles through the night hair, and I feel my throat constrict with disgust and pity for the girl. I catch sight of her wave of chestnut hair again, just as I knew I would, falling in straggles at her sides as she coughs pools of sick next to the trunk of a tree. Her body is folded in on itself, her limbs trembling, and I feel my pulse rack against my ribcage as I bring my fingers to my belt and tug the knife Elia had given me out of it.

_First kill_, I think to myself, _Make it good for the cameras, Roy. Don't be scared._

Even as I'm telling myself this, I feel myself start to shake, my legs paralyzed where they are.

_I don't want to do this. I don't want to. I don't want to. I don't want to._

Suddenly, I feel the matches' weight again, the cardboard surface of the box they're in feeling hard and uncomfortable against my hip. Darting my gaze toward the blade in my hand, I know that I can't do it that way. I could never.

I drop the knife toward the dirt, making it slap against the ground with a plunk.

Rena's head twitches upward in response to the sound, her sienna tresses spilling across her back as she slashes her amber gaze toward me, her eyes so wide that her irises are completely surrounded by white. Drips of her vomit stick to the sides of her pallid mouth, all color gone from her face.

My fingers reach for the matches, my thumb flicking the top of the box open and rubbing itself across their red, flammable tops. My half-lidded eyes don't leave Rena's for a second, and she stares blankly back at me, as if in a trance, not daring to make a move.

My fingers pluck a match away from where it is embedded, the flimsy wood of it feeling natural in my grasp. "Goodbye," I weakly murmur, my voice a soft undertone as it slithers through the breeze.

Abruptly, the treetops above us shake violently, sending leaves of various green shades raining. I see a flash of deep scarlet hair falling among the leaves, and suddenly, Elia elegantly lands in front of me with a thump, numerous throwing knives held between each of her slender fingers.

She flings one of the blades with no hesitation, making it rip through the air with blinding quickness before piercing right between Rena's eyes, making the District 6 female limply fall backwards, her eyes widely staring, dull and dead. A gush of blood spurts from the wound before spilling down her skin, dripping into her eyes and staining her fair hair.

"What did I _tell_ you about burning people alive?" Elia scowls, whirling herself around and shooting me a glare as sharp and cutting as glass. "Were you even going to kill her, Pyro? It seems to me like you were just _staring. _Somebody might think that you two were having an intimate conversation."

I blink in her direction, the matches still firmly held in my grasp. It takes me a moment to even realize where I am, what I'm doing. "Sorry," I mutter, dropping my arms to my sides and ramming the matches back into my belt, "Wasn't thinking."

"Damn _right_ you weren't!" Elia groans, throwing her arms into the air exasperatedly. "I swear, Roy, you're hopeless."

And with that, she trudges to Rena before tearing the knife out of her skull, wiping it dismissively on her black leggings before holding it between her teeth and launching herself onto a tree trunk, climbing upwards with such skill and speed that I found myself gawking. Once she makes it to the top of the tree, she gives me one last glare before darting off in the opposite direction, the leaves rattling in her wake.

Rena's cannon booms, and I feel the sound rack harshly through my veins, leaving me numb and battered.

* * *

><p>"What do you mean? I don't remember killing anyone!"<p>

Claus' eyes are widened with fright and utter confusion, his features brightened with an orange glow from the small fire flickering in front of him. The flames dance in the lightness of his irises, writhing in the messiness of his hair, illuminating the red splashes of blood encrusting his arena clothing—blood that isn't his.

I had walked back to meet Hyre and Boston after seeing Elia throw a knife at Rena's forehead and hearing not one cannon, but _two_, only to see that Claus had found them first. His entire frontside had been sprayed with blood, the red liquid congealing against his pale flesh and dripping in gluey streaks down his skin, clotting in his eyelashes and tufts of his flaxen hair. Even through all the blood, he still seemed as innocent as a toddler, eyes big and gleaming and mouth quivering with fright.

It wasn't until we had walked back to the Cornucopia and found Jules sitting by herself next to a fire that we had found out what happened—Claus spying Mack by the smoke we had seen corkscrewing into the air earlier, his eyes darkening before he had wrenched numerous blades from his belt and pounced on Mack with a sort of animalistic lunacy, tearing the blades across Mack's flesh until he was just a piece of torn up meat. All the while, Jules had lingered by the sidelines, petrified by the sight of Claus being showered with layer after layer of her district partner's blood.

She had told us this—the way Claus had let out maniacal cackles while ripping his blades into the tribute he had pinned to the forest floor, fueled by the excruciating, gurgling screams punching their way through Mack's throat—while hiding behind the horn, her eyes darting wildly in all directions beneath her short locks of hair for fear of Claus overhearing her. She had retold the story to Elia after the District 4 female found her way back to the Cornucopia alone, a slight pout on her face from not getting any more kills and a lingering hand on her stomach.

And now, after Hyre had torn a piece of the fabric away from his shirt and allowed Claus to wipe his face with it, we tried getting the story out of him, out of his very own fear-stricken mouth.

With every _"I don't remember any of it!"_ and _"You guys are all just messing with me!"_, Jules seemed to slip more and more into a void of nothingness, her eyes faraway and downcast.

I couldn't help but notice the slip of paper in her hands, its wrinkled surface stained with red fingerprints and smudges. She read it over and over again, clasping it tightly between her fingers.

She didn't notice as I leaned over her shoulder and skimmed my eyes across it, reading part of its contents:

_Dear Jules,_

_Maybe it's stupid for me to trust you, and to trust that you will receive this letter if I die. But I have to believe it will reach you, because hope is all we have, right?_

Hesitantly, I quietly made my way over to her, sitting cross-legged next to her trembling frame. I felt a lump form in my throat as I cast my yellow gaze onto her, breaking her out of her daze before a jolt surged through her shoulders, startled by my presence.

"Hope," I murmured, letting my eyes flit back to the paper, managing to read the closing lines:

_Your friend,_

_Mack_

before Jules had tucked it hastily back into her belt. I directed my gaze back onto her, noticing the pained creases in her face for the first time, the way her irises seemed so crinkled with pain and confusion as the flames from the fire flickered faintly in them.

"Hope," I echoed, sighing as I leaned lazily backwards onto my elbows, "I don't believe in it. It gets us no where."

I saw Jules tense at my words, as if she was irritated, and I felt the corner of my mouth perk. _"...Je plaisante."_

* * *

><p><strong><em>SPECIAL NOTE:<em>**

_Deaths and Injuries and by who:_

D1F Skye Azurite – killed by Lilly Cross (BB);  
>D2F Onyx Marshal – injured by Aleah Armani, later killed by selfHyre Fletching (BB);  
>D3M Mack Tulley – injured by Roy Rousseau (BB), later killed by Claus Hendall;<br>D4M Moss Dorian – injured by Tara Tremain (BB);  
>D5M Claus Hendall – injured by Aspen Chekov (BB);<br>D6F Rena Sage – injured by Elia Zervakos (BB), later injured by Boston Williams, killed by Elia Zervakos;  
>D6M Relk Stein – killed by self (BB);<br>D7F Nella Burchalynn – injured by Onyx Marshall (BB);  
>D7M Aspen Chekov – injured by Hyre Fletching (BB);<br>D8F Maia Spring – Killed by Aleah Armani (BB);  
>D9F Ari Locus – injured by Elia Zervakos (BB);<br>D9M Sapphire Tree – killed by Hyre Fletching (BB);  
>D11F Lilly Cross – injured by Skye Azurite (BB);<br>D11M Vaughn Shumway – killed by Boston Williams (BB);  
>D12F Tara Tremain - injured by Aella Dekas (BB);<br>D12M Clude Miller – killed by Onyx Marshall (BB)

_Bloodbath injuries and scale of 1-10 (1 being a scratch, 10 being fatal):_

D3M Mack Tulley - 2;  
>D4M Moss Dorian - 5;<br>D5M Claus Hendall - 2;  
>D6F Rena Sage - 5;<br>D7M Aspen Chekov - 4;  
>D7F Nella Burchalynn - 3;<br>D9M Ari Locus - 3;  
>D11F Lilly Cross - 7;<br>D12F Tara Tremain - 6

_Breakdown of Chapters:_

Relk Stein (D6M) – description of arena, start of bloodbath, sees Sapphire's death and experiences his own death.  
>Moss Dorian (D4M) – Moss' injury, sees Vaughn's death, sees Ari and Tara's injuries.<br>Aspen Chekov (D7M) – sees Lilly kill Skye and get badly injured, pulls out with her. Sees Mack's injuries. Gets injury from Rena. Injures Claus. See's Aleah kill Maia  
>Hyre Fletchling (D2M) – Sees Onyx kills Clude, injures Nella, Sees Onyx gets injured by Aleah and then kills her, sees Rena injured, wrapping up of bloodbath.<p> 


	42. Darkness Becomes Your Guiding Lead

Hey guys! Time for the next chapter of Tears of Blood! We really hope you enjoy this, everyone has really stepped up their game. Things are beginning to get...super interesting.

Next update should be Thursday for a one shot death scene of Onyx Marshall (provided the site doesn't break AGAIN). Next story update Saturday. XD

Oh, and don't worry if you haven't seen muttations yet. They're coming...

* * *

><p><strong>Ari Locus, District 9<strong>

**By nightfuries**

* * *

><p><em>"Remembrance is a golden chain<br>Death tries to break,  
>but all in vain.<br>To have, to love, and then to part  
>Is the greatest sorrow of one's heart.<br>The years may wipe out many things  
>But some they wipe out never.<br>Like memories of those happy times  
>When we were all together."<em>

—Author Unknown

* * *

><p><em>Running<em>. That's all I should focus on. Just run Ari. As fast as you can. As far as you can.

But my body is protesting; after a year in that little cell, I've gotten somewhat out of shape. I know I can't keep going, I need to stop.

Sometime around yesterday evening I noticed that the hedge maze began to thin and turn into something more like a forest. I guess the maze really is more intricate than I thought, but at this point I don't really care. Finally giving into my protesting body, I collapse against a tree and take a tiny sip from the water bottle I managed to grab during the bloodbath, though my supply is quickly depleting and I know I'm going to have to find some sort of stream or pond to fill it up in. Fortunately the vegetation around me looks very healthy; there must be some sort of water source here.

I try to sit up but my limbs are rebelling, refusing to get up until they've had a rest. But I'm starting to panic; I can't rest, I need to keep moving, I need to go _now_. Not because of the worry that someone might find me, I think I've gotten a fair distance between myself and any other tributes. It's not them I fear, it's the memories, memories of three days ago when we first rose up to see the arena.

_Green hedges lining either side, the golden Cornucopia at one end while a long hallway framed by the walls of the mazes goes off in the other. I can't see around me, can't see the other tributes, I have no idea where to find Sapphire._

I put my head in my hands, as though they could block out the memories. But it doesn't work.

_The gong sounds and I take off running. I can hear the other tributes running behind me and I falter before pouring on the speed again. "Don't think about the consequences Ari," I say to myself as I dash by two tributes already locked in combat. I don't stop to see who they are, I just keep running around the Cornucopia, hoping with each new step I take my district partner will come into view. Something whistles by my ear, a knife maybe, but I don't stop, I just keep running._

I clench my hands tighter around my head, trying in vain to stop the flow of memories because I know exactly what comes next.

_Suddenly I see it, out of the corner of my eye, a flash of blonde hair. I turn and it is her, grabbing a small backpack. My heart swells with the fact that I've finally found her but then drops to my stomach as I see someone coming up behind her. The boy from District 2, I forget his name but does it really matter? What matters is the slightly sorrowful yet determined expression on his face and the extremely menacing, sharp sword he clenches in his hand. My whole body freezes, and I can't do anything but watch as he swings his sword, cutting a deep gash into her wrist._

_Despite the fighting going on all around me, I can hear the scream she lets out as she falls back, and it's her voice that snaps me out of my trance. I take off, running for her, but part of me knows that I won't get there in time._

Not Sapphire. She was too young, she was so innocent . . .

_I'm helpless to do anything but watch as she tries in vain to fight him off. I franticly try to speed up but still it's not enough and my heart stops as her opponent swings the sword once more, reducing her arm to nothing but a bleeding stump._

_She screams and I'm pretty sure I do too, but both of us are drowned out by the fights going on around us. But I still think there's hope. I've seen worse injuries from winners coming out of the Games. She can still win, and the Capitol can fix her up._

_Though sometimes, hope isn't enough._

"_No!"_

_I realise what the boy is going to do a second before he does it, but of course my shouts don't stop him as he kneels beside her and raises the sword. I resume my sprint towards them (I hadn't realised I'd stopped) and am a mere fifteen feet away before he stabs her in the neck._

_He turns to run but I don't bother with him, only trying to reach her. Him, the pudgy boy from District 6 also leaving, someone I didn't notice before, none of them matter. I fall to my knees as I reach her body, which has stopped convulsing and now lies still on the ground._

"_Come on, come on," I mutter, nudging her shoulders, trying to stop the bleeding in her neck even though part of me knows it's futile. She's gone. She's really gone._

Shudders run though my body and I have to take deep slow breaths to try and calm myself, but it's not working. I'm losing it, I can tell. My entire goal was to bring Sapphire home, what am I going to do now? She was too young to die, too sweet and kind for the Games. Why did it have to be her?

I rub my arm as the memories of the bloodbath remind me of the injury I got during it. A cut on my arm, somewhat large but nothing too deep, courtesy of the District 4 girl. I knew I should have just left immediately, but after what her ally did to Sapphire I couldn't just leave. I don't know what I would have done if I'd had the chance, and there's a small part of me that's glad she stopped me and sort of brought me back to my sense. Still, there are plenty of nicer ways that don't involve sharp objects in which she could have done it. I should be taking more care of it, making sure it doesn't get infected but beyond ripping off the sleeve of my shirt and tying it up with that I haven't really bothered to do anything else. What's the point anyways?

The memories of my fight with Elia, I think her name was, come back to me and I rest my fingers on the hilt of the only other object I managed to grab from the bloodbath. A wickedly sharp sword, curved slightly at the end as it glints in the sunlight of the arena. I'm aware of my heart beginning to pound louder and louder as I stare at the weapon, two conflicting thoughts bouncing around my head. I could keep it, _should_ keep it; it's the Hunger Games, what kind of an idiot wouldn't keep a sword? But still, I remember the anger I felt when Sapphire had died – first the sadness, but then the intense fury. Even now, the thought of what I would have tried to do, wanted to do _so badly_ if I'd caught up to the boy from District 2 scares me.

Slowly, my fingers trembling so hard it's a miracle I've been able to hold onto it this long, I drop the sword out onto the ground in front of me, where it lays in the dirt and if it had eyes I'd swear it was staring up at me, waiting for me to make a decision. A drop of moisture rolls down my cheek and I realise that I've broken into a cold sweat as I stay unmoving in my spot, nearly burning a hole through the blade with the intensity of my gaze. A few weeks ago, back when I was home and hadn't volunteered and was safe, I would have thought that someone staring at a motionless sword like it's going to leap up and attack them was either crazy or really, really stupid. But now, I've been in the Games; that sword equals power, power I'm not sure is entirely good for me. What's the old saying? Power corrupts, absolute power corrupts absolutely. Still, I am in the Games . . .

Hesitantly, my hand slowly creeps towards the sword again, and by now my whole body is shaking with fear of the weapon, and fear of myself. One finger reaches falteringly out and pokes the hilt with so much reluctance it might almost be considered funny. I swallow hard as I curl my finger around the weapon and slowly the others follow suit until my thumb is the last digit to wrap around the familiar metal hilt. _Familiar_. Like this object used for killing has already become a part of me.

I pause for a second, suddenly exhausted at the amount of tension my body is in right now. _Come on Ari, _I think harshly. _It's just a sword. It's a freaking piece of metal, there's no reason to be so terrified of it._ With that in mind I steel myself and, grabbing the sword more firmly, bring it closer to me. _No reason to worry. Just a sword. Something that's necessary in the Games. Just a-_

My eyes flit across the surface of the blade and my heart nearly stops as I catch sight of my reflection before flinging the sword as far away from me as I possibly can. My eyes. They've got the same look as . . . his.

Murder is not a common thing in Panem; obviously because most people aren't stupid enough to attempt it since they know the consequences. But there was one man, about six months ago in District 9, who was accused of killing another. His wife worked in one of the many labs in town and one day, just like any other, she went into work. The drastic difference was how it ended.

Another thing not common to our district is malfunctions in the labs. Most of our equipment needs to be imported from the Capitol so our work can be done properly, and as a result most of it is topnotch stuff. But occasionally, mistakes are made.

Three people were killed in the fire that ravaged the building, including the woman. Her husband was devastated, but angry too – when I'd heard about it I wasn't exactly sure why. After all, no one was really to blame, right? But I guess fury sort of messes with your mind, changing your thoughts and making you believe someone was to blame because for some reason or another, having a scapegoat seems to lessen the blow. The one this man chose was a drunken co-worker of his wife's, who hadn't gone to work that day as usual. I guess he thought that somehow, if the man had been there, the fire might not have occurred. That they could have done the experiment safely or something. He wasn't genuinely mad at the guy, and if he'd just been left alone to vent, he'd probably have been fine. But alcohol, like anger, does funny things to people's brains. So instead of being sympathetic or even just sitting passively and listening, the drunk goaded him on, almost laughing in his face about what had happened. I guess in the man's state of mind, that was just too much.

He didn't even deny it when the peacekeepers came and found him covered in the drunk's blood. I guess it wouldn't have been possible _to _deny it; he was still holding the knife when they found him. He was arrested on the spot; but no killers just get put in jail for their punishment. Still, it took a little while to prepare for the hanging – there hadn't been a need for one in ages – so he was placed in a small cell adjacent to the one the seven of us stayed in. I remember watching him, eyes wide as he cowered in the corner of his space, trying to get away from himself and the monster he'd become in that small moment of loss of control. It was a terrifying experience, seeing him as he cried over his wife and what he'd done, but scariest of all was the expression in his eyes. All the hurt, the pain, the _fear _that was present there; well, I'd vowed that no matter what happened in my life I'd never end up like that. And now look at me.

I pull my knees up as close as I can get them and bury my face into them, feeling the hot tears flow from my eyes and stain the material of my arena outfit, but I couldn't care less. _I'm losing it_, I think to myself, clenching my hands around my legs so tightly that it hurts. _I am completely and utterly losing it._

Suddenly something falls out of the pocket of my shorts. I pay it no attention, still wrapped in a cloud of unrelenting, bitter misery, but as it rolls across the forest floor a melody begins to play.

_The darkness holds all sorts of monsters and creeps,_

_It's oh so pitch black, so dark and so deep,_

_But when you let your eyelids sink and slip into sleep,_

_Darkness becomes your guiding lead,_

_Rock back into goblins and fairies and elves,_

_Witches and princes and lords a'leaping twelve,_

_Let the darkness consume you until you're no longer yourself,_

_Lean into hurricanes and wishes to delve._

_And once your face pales and you give yourself a fright,_

_You'll know it's more than the werewolves' bite,_

_It has to be something that is to do with that Light,_

_So fall backwards into the night_

I recognise the song at once. Sapphire's district token. Another memory from the bloodbath returns to me. Right before I left her, when I'd been trying to stop the bleeding, do anything for her, my hand had curled around her remaining one. I hadn't really registered the fact that she'd been holding something in her hand, and I guess I sort of just slipped it into my pocket without realising. Another old saying comes to me. _Old habits die hard._

The song ends and then begins all over again. Part of me is wondering if I should turn it off; I might as well be waving a flag over my head and shouting, "Come and get me!" to the Careers. But it's nice having it on. It reminds me of her interview where she sang along to it, her young voice echoing off of the area as everyone in the Capitol quietened to hear her sing. Slowly the sadness begins to creep away as I raise my head to hear the melody better. It's almost as if she isn't entirely gone.

But she'll never be gone, at least, she won't as long as people remember her. And I find myself getting the same urge I had in my room in the Capitol, the overwhelming feeling of doing something right here so that no one will _ever_ forget the kind, gentle-natured tribute that was Sapphire Tree.

Although really, what can I do? I have barely any supplies and I'm surrounded by a dense forest. There's also the possibility of another tribute sneaking up on me around here; I really should get moving. Besides, it might help distract me from having to think.

I stand up and go to grab her district token, which rolled off down a small hill. I chase after it and shut it off and just like that, the melody disappears from the woods, and the feeling of Sapphire being still here goes with it. Once again I'm overwhelmed by loneliness and misery and I'm just about to give up on the Games and wait until someone comes and kills me when I notice what stopped the token's tumble. A young sapling is poking out through the ground, stretching out its few leaves as it tries to bask in the rays of sunlight not obscured by the other trees. It looks as if it's only been in the ground for a few months, but if the rest of these trees are anything to go by, it'll live for ages, growing larger and stronger with each passing year. If only humans were like trees; sturdy and strong, almost invincible in a sense. Then maybe Sapphire wouldn't have . . .

And suddenly an idea pops into my head. A ridiculous, crazy idea, but I guess that in the state I'm in, it suits me. After all, I wanted to do something to remember Sapphire.

I scour the ground, looking for every sort of rock I can find. Once I've gotten a large handful I get down on my knees in front of the sapling and begin to lay them out carefully, one by one. After each has been placed I stand back to look at my handiwork. Something's missing, I can feel it. I look down at my hand, still tightly clenching Sapphire's district token and I notice the long string attached so it could be hung around someone's neck. Slowly I reach out and hang it on one of the tree's thin branches and press the button. The haunting melody fills the forest again and I step back to read the words I wrote in the rock once more.

_In Loving Memory_

_Sapphire's Tree_

I almost let out a small smile at that point; it just seems so perfect; I think she would have agreed. The small sapling, _her_ small sapling with the necklace playing her song, no one can forget her now. And this time I do smile. I've heard trees can live for hundreds of years, growing bigger and stronger all the time. "You'll be remembered Sapphire," I whisper softly, staring at the tree and letting the melody fill my mind, clearing out all the thoughts of sadness and misery, replacing them with a feeling of simple happiness. At least, as happy as you can get in the arena.

As if cued by my thoughts reminding me where I am, a voice rings out behind me. "Not the smartest thing to do when you're in the Games."

Immediately, my whole body tenses, and I whip around to see the boy from Eight, Oak, emerging from the trees behind me. My brain whirs into motion, trying to rid itself of the sleepy contentedness it felt moments before and come up with a plan for how to survive this inevitable fight. But really, short of bludgeoning him to death with a water bottle, I've got nothing; the sword is still lying at the top of the hill. And even if I did hold it in my hand, I don't really think I'd have it in me to kill him. Not after everything that came to my mind when I thought of the weapon.

Oak walks forwards, but not in a menacing way at all and he doesn't bother to pull out the knife I can see poking out of the backpack he holds. He's not even looking at me; just watching the little memorial I made to Sapphire, as though trying to figure something out. And then he asks me the question. "Why?"

I look at him, wondering if he's joking, but he seems dead serious. It's not an easy question to answer though, and I struggle to find words to say. "Because . . ." I make a wide hand gesture, as if that could answer for me. "Because she deserves to be remembered," I finish.

He still doesn't look at me, just continues staring at the tree. There's something in his eyes though; sadness, sorrow, the same expression I'm sure I've worn since the beginning of these awful games. Slowly, the memories of last night come back to me, when they showed the faces in the sky of those who had died. I wanted to look away, not to have to see her face, have the Capitol confirm that she was dead, but I couldn't stop myself. And right before her face showed up and I pretty much collapsed in despair, another young face shone through the night. Delicate figure, black hair slicked back into a neat bun; Maia Spring, the District 8 female tribute. Oak's partner.

We're both staring at the sapling now, and out of the corner of my eye I see Oak step forwards. But I don't flinch this time; I don't think either of us are looking for a fight right now. He just kneels on the ground, grabbing the pile of rocks I had left over, and begins to add something else. I watch him work, waiting patiently until he stands up from the ground, and I take in the new extension of my message.

_In Loving Memory_

_Sapphire's Tree_

_And Maia Spring_

For a while, the two of us just stand quietly, letting Sapphire's melody fill the silence. Finally, I say, "Now they'll never really be gone." Oak nods, just as an idea pops into my head. "And maybe . . . somehow, they'll find each other.

Oak turns away from the sapling and looks at me for a second before cracking a small smile. "Maybe."

The sound of rustling trees reaches our ears over the music, bringing the two of us back to the reality of where we are. "We should go," Oak says, turning back to the memorial and whispering something too quiet for me to hear before heading in the opposite direction of the noise. I stare at him for a second, somewhat confused. _We_ should go? Wait, does he mean . . .?

"You coming?"

I look at Oak, wondering if he's joking. But once again, I realise he's not. "Yeah," I say, after a pause, still a bit in shock. "Yeah, I'm coming."

He nods and heads off, leaving me to fully take in what just happened. I guess . . . we're allies. Just like that. I make to follow him but pause, glancing back towards the hill where the sword lays. Once again, the tension returns as I ask myself the question. _Should I get it?_

Most people would. No idiot would leave a perfectly good sword behind. So call me an idiot, and a coward. I've seen tributes before who leave behind weapons because they're 'good' and 'pure' and could never kill anyone. Me, I'm just scared of what holding a blade in my hand does to me. And I really don't have the courage to deal with that problem right now. So I'll leave it behind, just run from it. Besides, I have something better.

I smile, and turn towards Sapphire's tree one last time. "I'll see you around Sapphire," I whisper, just barely audible over the music. "Stay safe."

And then I head off after Oak, my heart a whole lot lighter than it was earlier today. I've gained an ally. Not that I really ever lost one. Sapphire will always be here; you just have to listen for her.


	43. First Order of Business

**Phoenix's A/N: Here we go with another chapter! Thanks so much for all of your lovely reviews and adds and favourites! I THINK we're caught up, except for what came in today. We conquered over 100 emails to get it done XD WHOOOOO!**

**Anyways, in case any of you...you know, forgot—**

_**Quarter Quell**_

_**Summer 2012**_

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><p><strong>Yelof530's AN: 'Ello again. Thought you had enough of me, eh? I'd like to thank Alex for giving me this to write, and I truly hope I did Lilly and my fellow authors' tributes justice. In short, thanks for reading *bows fancifully* and enjoy the story.**

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><p><strong>Lilly Cross, District 11<strong>

**Tribute by zxskunkmuffinxz**

**Chapter by Yelof530**

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><p><em>"When someone loses their parents, they've lost their past.<br>When someone loses their child, they've lost their future.  
>When someone loses their sibling, they've lost past, present, and future."<em>

—Unknown

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><p>I awake to the scent of open air of forest and morning dew. The trees' fragrance brings a familiar sense of home, but not quite. There's that one distinct difference. These trees are meant to simply grow, more found in a district like that of Seven. This sensation is instantly swallowed up by the powerful pain pulsating through me. The only void feeling to process in my mind is pain. It radiates through my sore muscles, all the way to my tendons and ticking at the marrow of my bones.<p>

Where am I? The thought startles me for a moment, clenching at my heart. I'm aware of my feet trailing over grass and other forest debris, two arms grasping me around my center. Who is this? Where am I? As my mind puts together the black splotches of memory, I gasp. Not in a surprised, oh dear god, I'm in the Hunger Games. It's an odd feeling to sit at the pit of my stomach.

I did it. I killed the District One girl.

What am I exactly to feel? Triumph? At peace? I want to feel this. But, as much as I try to, I can't.

Squinting upwards through the light that managed to peek out between gaps of the foliage, I glimpse Araucaria. He had paused at my sudden gasp, the break in inhalation startling him in the silence around us. His eyes flit about to check for other tributes and, finding the coast clear, pulls us beneath a grouping composed of low hanging branches and overgrown weeds. His breathing wore on heavy and rugged.

Araucaria lays his head back on the tree we leaned on. I can tell his shoulders were aching from the distance he practically dragged me, as well as the decent sized pack sitting beside him. Everything blanked out about the time the sun went down last night, and my legs probably buckled an hour before that. Was it last night? It could be longer. The Bloodbath took some effort to focus in on. Strange, I'd had always imagined taking down the District One Girl to be crisper. My sights were narrowed on her from the very beginning. The moment I saw her at the Cornucopia, I ran as fast as I ever had before. It was all for my sister, Chloe.

Dodging through the other tributes to grab the first weapon I could, it was for Chloe. Facing the blonde girl from One was for Chloe. Taking every hit, every slice, feeling every spark of pain as my muscles roared with anger was for Chloe. Every throw of a blade back, all Chloe.

But when I stepped back and finally watched as this girl, so strong, so malicious for entering Games like this, that wasn't quite for Chloe. The satisfaction was for me.

Yet, where is it?

"How long have I been out?" a voice not quite my own says. It crackles like a radio and Araucaria has to pause to allow the words to process correctly.

"Some time before sundown yesterday." So it was last.

"How many are left?"

Araucaria raises a hand, ticking off tributes quickly in his head. "Nine died. Two-thirds still alive." The girl from One being among those nine. I can still imagine her staring, wide eyed at me, so confused.

I feel I should have gotten the peace of mind for fulfilling my one goal; taking down the District One girl. But, this girl, she didn't even know the reason behind my animosity. She wasn't the one who killed my sister. Some other generic District One girl did. And she was already dead.

My ally shuffles about, eyes instantly drooping from exertion. I immediately want to smack myself. I shouldn't have let him drag me all this time. He's somehow calm through all this and even at his low point, he pushes himself to stay together.

I turn to face him better and am struck by a strong pain along the surface of skin above my stomach. My abdomen, better word. It has been sitting there but only while moving am I struck by the severity of it. Unlike the rest of me, which was sore, this pain hit me forcefully. A roughly done bandaging covers my middle (if Araucaria's jacket thrown around me counts as bandaging) and blood stained my arena shirt. It isn't the most aesthetic thing to stare at. I can't help it though. To know it's all slowly leaking from me, it's like watching a train wreck.

Araucaria snaps his head up. Consciousness had begun to creep away and it took all that was left in him to stay awake. Seeing this was my entire fault, I climb to my feet. Waves of dizziness send the forest spinning and I nearly crumple again. Araucaria, swimming in my vision, wrinkles his brows together worriedly. A smile forces its way onto my face, feigning normalcy. I'm tempted to asking a shit load of questions, and in any normal situation, I would, but I bite my tongue. There'll be time for it later. Maybe.

"Stay hidden," I instruct. While I speak, I search through our pack. Food, knives, basic medical supplies. "I'll scout out the area."

"But you're hurt," he says.

"You're half dead," I reply dryly after taking a swig of water from the vital supply. It works wonders immediately, cooling my raw throat. I slide a knife into my back pocket and shove a packet of meat strips into my sleeve, just in case. "Did you sleep at all last night?"

Araucaria presses his lips together. "I'm still coming." That's just a way to avoid saying no. He tucks his feet back to stand but is caught off guard by the pointed stick jabbing at his throat. He frowns at the instrument I had hastily scooped up, hands raised in surrender.

"Stay." Moving as fast as I can without wincing, I dash out into the forested area. Hiding my path it simple and I'm tempted to take to the trees. But my body can barely keep up now, and I'm out of breath by the time I walk twenty feet. Warmth floods up through my face oddly in a way it shouldn't. I grab a tree and steady myself as the world wavers a moment.

Up ahead, there's a sudden laugh. It cuts in half, a person swiftly shushing it. It's this sudden sound that causes me to pick up on ever one to rattle through the trees, carried by the slight breeze. Heavy breathing washing in through constricted lungs, a snap of a twig and a groan at the slow process of whoever was traveling.

I slowly slide the knife from my pocket. It's difficult to keep hold of and my fingers shake slightly. I keep to the dense underbrush, hoping my dirt smeared face can keep from being spotted. The tributes, as I assumed them to be, stop walking. I hold my breath as I try to discover their identities through the foliage and my unclear vision.

Finally, the breath releases from me. My shoulders, having gradually shrugged upwards nervously, sink down again, the tense energy deflating.

I'm close enough now to hear what they're saying.

"I seriously have no idea what you're talking about," a voice so clearly Moss' says. There's a pause, where Aella must be rolling her eyes. I can practically imagine the smirk on her face.

"I know my graceless tomboy beauty is hard to handle. But I believe one day we can pull through and have you admit to noting my prettiness in near-death situations."

"You're insane, my dear blonde friend." There's a smack and yelp of pain and I creep closer, out of my hiding spot. My allies are in full view now and I watch as Aella steps close within Moss' face area.

Awkwardly, I clear my crackling throat. Aella and Moss whip around in a motion my eyes can't fully capture the speed of in the state I'm in. The girl throws whatever is closest and I barely collapse to the dirt floor in time to dodge the red apple sailing at an incredible velocity. It rebounds off a tree, its inner juices spritzing my face as the outer flesh smashes apart.

My face presses into the ground, still moist with morning air, and I prop my chin up to stare at the duo. They relax as they recognize me, sighing in relief. I laugh contemptuously.

"So, I stumble upon you two, goofing off and flirting," I spit. "And your first reaction is to chuck a damned apple at my head? Some allies you are. Last time I stop precious little kisses."

Both older teens are scowling at me. I would rise to yell at them further…but I sort of can't stand on my own accord at the moment. My stomach is screaming from the sudden pressure.

"We weren't flirting," Moss blurts. He lost his balance when Aella let go of him, and he, too, is now sprawled on the ground. His eyes shift about nervously and his head swings about to look over his shoulders, swiveling to the left, then to the right.

"I wasn't going to kiss him," Aella snaps. It's a little too quick though. However, knowing running my mouth would most certainly get my neck snapped, or least make them leave me here, I bite down on my tongue. Must. Resist. Urge. To. Punch. People. In. Face.

Aella helps Moss up and they watch me curiously as I press my face into the dirt again. "So, uh, have you seen Araucaria?"

"He's back at camp. At least, the place I left him in."

Several literally painful minutes later, after some hobbling, whining, and wanting to slap blonde District Five girls, we snake our way back to our District Seven ally. His head jerks up at our arrival, hand instinctively wrapping around the handle of his axe. We had chosen a good spot, only aware of his presence since I already knew he was there. Aella helps us down, but her blue eyes are zeroing in on the axe beside Araucaria.

"That was in the Cornucopia?" she asks, kneeling down beside him. While she speaks, Moss searches through and organizes the supplies. He moves off a little, mumbling various things beneath his breath. I'm not sure if it's him thinking aloud or other things in him thinking aloud.

"Yeah," Araucaria says simply. Aella examines it, pouting.

"I swear, I couldn't find a single double-edged axe in there," she complains. I'm not sure what was in the Cornucopia exactly. I just snatched whatever looked lethal and chased One. A weapon I used to kill her.

Araucaria purses his lips uneasily. Dark circles surround his eyes and he stifles a stubborn yawn from his lungs. "I think because Aleah got it first."

Aella's eyebrows scrunch up, mouth clenching in disbelief. "Dammit! Are you sure?"

The guy nods. "Pretty sure. She had it with her when she took out the girl from Eight."

"The flippy one?" I ask.

"That's the one."

"Who else is gone?" Araucaria rubs the sleep from his eyes, everyone pausing to think. He licks each one off his fingers, trying to go in order.

"Girl from One and Two, boy from Three, girl and boy from Six-"

"Wait, that's the little bastard who ate my dress," I butt in. After a moment, I say, "Sorry, continue?"

Aella takes over as Araucaria yawns again. "Girl from Eight, Girl from Nine, eh-" She pauses, unsure of how to go on.

"Eh, who?"

"Vaughn's dead," Moss states. His mood has darkened over completely, a grim expression on his face.

I blink as I take this in but shake the thought off. I wasn't expecting Vaughn to live. Wasn't even expecting him to make it past the first hour. Seems I was right.

I still can't help but feel…off. He was a nervous kid and probably never lived a day in his life, but he…he was just an innocent kid. He didn't know any better.

Neither did the girl from One. God, why do I keep thinking of her? Because you killed her, stupid. An innocent person. Maybe not as innocent as Vaughn, but who could be more innocent than that kid?

I realize everyone, with still living and on the run district partners, is staring at me. I shrug indifferently, leaning back on a clump of overgrown weeds. Moss' very Four-ish green eyes watch me with fierce curiosity. Why does he care so much? "He probably died pretty fast. It just brings us each closer to home."

Everyone nods, silent and solemn, jaws all clenched at the bleak, cold truth of the words. All of our scattered minds seem to be elsewhere, thinking on different topics and concerns. That can't happen.

"That's eight," I pipe up.

"Sorry," Aella says in low voice. "We weren't sure how'd you…the last death was the guy from Twelve."

Moss turns around, his back to us, and finishes zipping up our bags. An awkward pass of silence comes again. Araucaria's head begins to dip again and I finally note how comical the action is.

"We should stay and rest for a few hours," he says, blinking away the sleep to keep his attention on us. Aella rests a hand on his shoulder, the non-wounded one, and pats it gently.

"I'll keep watch. You look," her eyes trail over Araucaria, "you've looked better. You need to rest. We'll plan when we're all rested."

He opens his mouth to argue, but realizing the prospect of sleep, our ally positions himself comfortably, and fell asleep instantaneously. A wince flashes across his face for a moment as he shifts but passes as he lies on his back, avoiding pressing his weight into his injured arm while he slept.

"He's sleeping on me," Moss comments. I narrow my eyes, wondering if the boy was already losing it, but Aella chuckles. I only then realize Araucaria resting his head on a rock, covered with moss.

"Ha ha," I say mutely. Moss grimaces and Aella takes Araucaria's axe. She wrinkles her nose at the weight of it, not used to the simple single blade.

Moss crawls over to a tree, trying to lean back but only succeeding in wincing, and Aella takes a seat in the fork of a small tree.

I lay next to Moss. Every inch of movement is painful and Moss grunts as my weary head collapses on his shoulder.

"First order of business as official Anti-Career pack," I announce to no one in particular. Although, I'm pretty sure only Moss can hear me. "Take a nap."


	44. Keep on Hoping

**Isabugg's A/N: Happy Tuesday! Also, Happy Hunger Games! ...Even if things aren't too, uh, _happy_ in the ToB world right now. Good thing Yelof530 lightened things up a bit last chapter!  
>And with that, I bring you the long-awaited POV of Jules Surket! *insert booming applause here*<strong>

**And just a friendly reminder...**

**_Quarter Quell_**

**_Summer 2012_ **

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><p><strong>Jules Surket, District 3 <strong>

**By Fritz as Pritz**

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><p><em>"Guilt is perhaps the most painful companion of death." <em>

_~Coco Chanel_

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><p>I want to kill. Something. Anything. The first living being I feel capable of being able to squish under my thumb. This feeling inside of me, clawing and gnawing at my chest has never been this strong before. The emotions, well hidden and locked away, fuel this fire and I itch to let it loose.<p>

The others don't see it. They can't see it. Even if we were together the way it should have, with Skye and Onyx, they would be completely oblivious because let's face it, two of the Monsters are insane and many of us are leaving as soon as possible. The fact that our two most loyal members have died does not help. If I could, I would try to kill them, but I can't. I know that. They are all bigger than me, stronger than me. Only tracker jacker venom could help and my searching has proven futile thus far.

I try to keep myself in control through my traps. There are balls of mud with pointed sticks—that are practically spears—coming out of them hidden in trees and bags of rocks ready to fall on someone's head when triggered. My favorite is an extra sword that glides down from a tree and would impale anyone who got in its way. Any yet, I hid this one as far away as possible, in a tree next to the electric wall that is supposed to keep us here. Despite my greatest desire to kill, I cannot let the blood taint my hands.

"Have you set up any traps around here to keep us safe?" I blink once and look up from the patch of dirt I was staring at. Hyre stands in front of me, clenching the sliver locket that once hung around Onyx's neck in his hands. The two were close, kind of like Mack and me, but in a different way too.

I replay his question in my head before responding negatively. "It might be smart if you do." I lean back and look up at him, something I am used to doing since I am the shortest in the Monster gang.

"If you want me to set up a trap, just say so." He crosses his arms over his chest and glares at me lightly.

"I want you to set up a trap to protect us." I smile a little, pushing down the killing urge long enough to make myself appear the way I normally do, or did.

"Isn't that why you train for this shit? To protect yourself," I mutter getting to my feet. I wipe away the dirt on my palms and force a broader smile on my face.

"I don't think I can be everywhere at once." I get the image of a hundred little Hyres chasing me around the arena and barely conceal the shudder.

"Well I don't know about that." I smirk. "If we cut off your hair and throw it around the arena then technically you can."

While I know he appreciates sarcasm as much as the next guy, he isn't pleased with it. "There should still be something," he reiterates.

"Sure." I nod. "I'll get to it after I go have lunch with the President."

"Jules," he says through stern eyes.

"I'll get to it, Hyre. Geez, what's up your ass?" The same thing that is probably up mine except worse because he literally killed his district partner, to who he claimed to love. (I think it's a little weird, but maybe that's how they do things in District Two.)

"I want to survive," he grumbles and straightens himself so that he's taller than he already was.

"Why?" I ask throwing out my arms. My emotions begin to seep from the tightly sealed box and I try my hardest to keep them down. But, alas, I'm not that strong. "What's the point? So you have a better chance of going home to your miserable family? So you can feel guilty about killing Onyx?" His face falls and I look to the floor. "Sorry," I mutter, walking away before he can reply.

I need to relax. I need something to get the overflowing emotions out of me. Snapping at my future possible murderers cannot help me in the long run. I grab my bag and stuff whatever I can lay my hands on (plastic, twine, food, water, pliers, my knife, and other such miscellaneous items) inside of my bag. My hand goes to the syringe I have attached to my belt just in case I find a tracker jacker somewhere. Without a word to the Monsters, I turn and walk away. If someone says something I don't hear it.

I run past the ash field of the Cornucopia, tripping over rocks and air at almost every turn. When I stumble toward the tree line of the forest, I trip and collapse on the grassy floor. I roll to my side and allow my mind to drift to the place it normally goes when I begin to think of traps. I try to focus on a way I can create something simple but not too simple. I don't want to waste my time protecting something I'm going to leave. I can create a weak snare or just dig a hole and let people fall in it. Maybe I should create a stick wall around us. On second thought, Roy will probably burn it.

I pause and sit against the closest tree, looking out over the arena. It's calm and quiet, like the early mornings back home before the factories began their smoke and everyone is still sluggish; it's the time before depressed people awaken to find they don't want to wake to see another day. I pull my knees to my chest and clench the knife I brought with me from the Cornucopia. I wonder what it would feel like to run it through someone's flesh.

I shake my head of that train of thought almost immediately. It's been like this for a while, my desire for blood. I wish I could say I don't know why this is, but I do. I can delude myself all I want, but then I would be going against my own morals, and that wouldn't make me any better than the scum under my shoes. I sigh heavily and lean back, enjoying the feeling of the sun on my skin.

My mother once told me that guilt is one of the strongest emotions that an individual can feel. It can sometimes be worse than love and can make people do things that are completely out of character, like wanting to kill someone. My grip on the knife grows tighter and I close my eyes.

It's my fault Mack is dead. I should have done something. Anything. I told myself that I would let myself die to let him live. That was the plan. I would meet up with him and we would win. But given the chance to prove myself, to prove my loyalty, I didn't do anything. I only stared. What good was that? I may not have physically killed him, but I definitely didn't stop it.

I wonder if this happened to Gage and Cabel. Is that why Cabel is so quiet and why Gage is so blunt? If I survive will I be like that? Will I turn into the bitter victor in Victor's Village, haunted by things that they can't change?

I hit the ground and mutter a curse. Why am I even beating myself up about this? I knew that this was going to happen. I knew that one of us would have to die. I knew that the odds were not in our favor. But feelings don't work this way. No sense of logic can change what you really feel. It doesn't mean I'm not going to try.

I take deep even breaths, trying to keep my emotions in check. I need to get rid of as much guilt as I can. Once I'm home—if I'm home—then I can deal with it with the help of my friends and family. Here, the only thing I am doing is let it eat me alive. If I can hold off for a few more days, then everything will be okay. I can create my traps. I can do what I have to to make a name for myself. Then I will be okay. As long as I hope, I know that I'll be okay. I laugh ruefully and pull myself to my feet.

I reach into my jacket and feel the comfort of his letter against my chest. I may not be able to help him now, but I can at least honor him. I pull my bag over my shoulder and walk to the graveyard.

I scan all of the tombstones, eying them to see if there is an empty one. Finally, I find the perfect site, far away from the Cornucopia and close to the tree line at the end of the graveyard. The tomb has a name written on it already, but the name there is simply Norm, which I figure I can change with some work.

Pulling my knife out, I kneel in front of the slab of stone and work at the trying to chisel out the name. I've only tried this once before when I was younger and wanted to put my name on everything. It didn't turn out so well that time and I figured now wouldn't be grand either; but at least it's something. I finish off my project by making a rough looking "k" from the "m" and admire my work. It's difficult to read, but legible nonetheless. I smile and begin to dig a hole in the dirt. When it's about as deep as my hand, I stand up and wipe the dirt off me.

Taking a deep breath, I begin to speak softly, "So, the last funeral I went to I was seven, so forgive me, Mack, if this is the worst eulogy you've ever heard." I readjust myself and look down at the makeshift grave. Sighing, I continue. "I don't really know what to say, but I do wish that we could have been friends before we got here. It sucks ass that it took the Hunger Games to bring about a friendship between us."

I chew on my bottom lip and swallow. "I'm really gonna miss you, you know. I'm gonna miss making fun of Lucea whenever she's being a bitch to me and trying to decipher whatever Cabel is trying to say. I'll miss sneaking food to you at every possible moment. I'll miss those concerning glances you would give me whenever I was near the Monsters." I pause and smile a little. "I bet you thought you were being sly about that, but I knew. I always knew." I whisper the last part so softly I'm not even sure I say it. I take a deep heavy breath and look up, fighting back the wetness building behind my eyes.

"You were the best partner anyone could ask for. Sure you couldn't fight or create a huge fire like Roy, but you were always so optimistic and hopeful. I think that is more important than anything else." I clench my eyes shut, a single tear running down my cheek. "I'm so sorry, Mack. I should have never tried to ally with the Monsters. It should have been us from the beginning." Taking a shaky breath, I wipe away the residue from my tear. "At least now you don't have to hope anymore because anything you can hope for is already there. I hope you're happy, where ever you are and make sure to save me a room next to yours okay?"

I reach inside of my jacket and pull out the letter he wrote for me. I can almost see him writing it in bed while he should have been focusing on the competition or the Games. He never let it get to him, not really anyway. I smile at the paper as I lift it and read it over again:

_Dear Jules,_

_Maybe it's stupid for me to trust you, and to trust that you will receive this letter if I die. But I have to believe it will reach you, because hope is all we have, right?_

_I'm glad I got to know you, Jules, and I can't help but wish it was under different circumstances. I don't understand completely how we became friends so fast in such a dire situation, but I won't question it, because all I know is that I wouldn't want it any other way._

_And remember it's scientifically proven a person can last eight days without food, three days without water, three minutes without oxygen, but not a minute without hope. So, no matter what, keep on hoping._

_Your friend,_

_Mack_

_P.S. If there is a District 13, find it for me._

I read it over and over again, trying to fix it in my memory. I don't want to give it up, since it is all I have left of him, but I know that I have to for the same reason. _I don't understand completely how we became friends so fast in such a dire situation, but I won't question it, because all I know is that I wouldn't want it any other way._ Neither would I. I allow a few more tears to slip from my grasp as I close up the letter. I rehearse it in my mind, word for word, and only stop when I am completely sure that I will never forget it. I never want to forget.

I kiss the letter and place it at the bottom of the hole with a heavy heart. "I will find District Thirteen for you," I whisper so that the cameras may not be able to hear. "I swear I will. Even if it takes the rest of my life."

I place the dirt over the letter and flatten it so that the ground is level again."I'll miss you buddy." I press a kiss on my fingertips then place it on his tombstone. I hope his parents see this and his little sister. I hope that they know that I'm sorry.

Taking a step away, I notice how bare it is. I don't want it to be ugly, so I decide to go to the tree line and search for flowers. I walk over there quietly, surprisingly at ease. The guilt, while not completely gone is not as overpowering as before. I paid my dues and while that may not be enough, I know that it is all I can do for the time being.

When I get to the trees, I see a small patch of flowers. I walk over there and pick the cleanest of the bunch. As I get a good enough handful, I eye something moving around. My eyes jump up, scanning the area for any potential threats. I left most of my supplies at Mack's grave, but my knife is still in my hand. Then, I catch the smallest glimpse of gold.

The tracker jacker rests on a flower, pollinating or doing whatever it is they do. The gold is almost brighter on the live insect than it is around my neck and I find myself marveling at its beauty. I take a step toward it and it buzzes away. I run after it with all of my might.

Following an insect would be hard if it wasn't bright gold and shined brightly in the afternoon sun. Even with this advantage, I find myself losing it often. Then, when I feel I am getting close, my leg gets caught on the root of a large oak tree and I slide on the ground.

I groan and roll onto my back. I covered my face pretty well, but a rock still manages to come into contact with my forehead and I am bleeding there. I apply pressure to the wound and curse myself for being so clumsy. Right when I was going to get what I really wanted, I had to fucking fall.

Then I see it, high within the trees, nearly invisible to the naked eye. I wouldn't have seen it at all if it were for the thin gap of the branches, giving me a perfect view. There is my reason for hoping, my only hope for survival. The beautiful nest of the tracker jackers.

I cannot contain the fit of laughter that fills me up and for a moment, I don't care who is listening. Mack must have led me here. It's his way of saying thank you, of telling me to keep hoping. To make sure I don't give up. When my laughter subsides, I close my eyes and a serene smile takes over. "Thank you," I whisper. "Thank you."

Now it's time for the real work.

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><p>The sun begins to descend when I finally make my way back to the Cornucopia, though I am basically forcing myself to go back. I spent the last few hours creating a plastic dome around the nest so that when I had to use the smoke to put them to sleep, it wouldn't give away my cover. I wanted to make sure that it was still well covered by the trees and that my plastic doesn't bring too much attention to it. I also made a small basket out of the left over plastic and put all of the supplies I brought into it. To symbolize to end of my conquest, I finally placed the flowers on Mack's grave with another thank you to him for bringing me to the nest.<p>

When I get back to the clearing of the Monsters, they are almost in the same position that I left them. Elia is practicing with her weapon in the corner, though I can tell she isn't really into it. She seems distracted almost, and I notice her hand has gone to her stomach several times within the last couple of days. I know that her loyalties are waning with the Monsters, much like my own.

Boston takes a nap in the middle of camp, his lips moving every so often to whatever dream he is having. Hyre is stabbing the air with Boston's spear, but then tosses it to the side to do sit ups. I notice that Onyx's locket is around his neck. Roy sits in front of the fire, staring at the flames as if dances in front of him. He's been in a daze since Skye's death and there are times when I fear that he's just going to disappear or kill one of us. And yet he is still the leader and, despite everything, I can admire him for that much.

And then there is Claus who mumbles things under his breath and walks around as if there is another man in his head. He killed Mack too, but then he didn't. Until this afternoon whenever I wanted to imagine killing someone, I thought of him. I imagined what would happen if I led him into a crafty trap that would slowly take his life, something that would make him suffer. Now, all I can hear is him saying, "I don't remember any of it." Something must have happened. I don't know what it was, but I don't think that it was Claus who did it. At least not the real Claus. It doesn't mean I forgive him or anything—far from it—but at least I don't imagine running a knife through him at every moment. And for me, that's a major improvement. (Besides, maybe Claus is the real victim...)

Discarding my now empty bag to the side, I go to Hyre. I stand beside him and I revel in my only chance to look down on him. "I'm sorry about earlier. I shouldn't have said anything." He nods a little and continues his exercise. "I thought about hiding the bombs throughout the ash ground so it could create a safe circle around us." Truth be told, I thought of that idea for myself, but with my tracker jackers, I'm sure I won't need it. Besides, if I do, I'll go back to get it.

He pauses his crunches and sits up. "Can you do that?"

"I'm pretty sure that I can switch the pressure frequency so that it would explode when a certain amount of weight is applied instead of the other way around." He nods his understanding, though it is uncertain if he really gets it. It's weird being around people who don't understand the words frequency, joules, and circuit boards. It makes me want to use large and confusing words on them.

"That'd really help, especially against Moss's gang." I crinkle my nose at the mention of that traitor. I won't have to deal with him much longer.

"Yeah, maybe I can blow someone up." I smile and I notice he reciprocates my expression.

Here it is. My golden opportunity. If I don't do it now then there is no point in doing it later on. It'll be too late. I mentally sigh and device the proper way for wording this. "I'm going to do it now, and I probably won't be back for a while."

He shrugs and finally stands to stretch. "Okay," he replies simply as if wondering why I was saying anything at all. I nod a little and turn away before I can tell if he caught what I was truly saying. If he did, I don't want him to try and kill me for taking food.

With long quick strides that I would normally trip over, I go to the Cornucopia and grab whatever tools I would need, as well as as much food and water as I can stuff in the bag. I've been training myself for days to last on little and I hope that it hasn't been in vain. When I am about to leave, I catch sight of a blanket. It's a large heat reflecting blanket that can easily protect me through the nights. I snatch it and place it under my arm.

Rolling up my sleeping bag, I glance around to see if anyone would say anything or even noticed what I was doing. Hyre is jogging around the clearing, Boston is just now beginning to wake, Elia drinks from a water bottle after her practicing, Claus is muttering things under his breath and Roy begins to remake the fire that he just put out. They won't miss me when I'm gone.

"Hey, Elia!" She looks toward me with a raised eyebrow and probably notices all the supplies I have on me.

"When Hyre comes back, tell him that I'm marking the places that I'm putting the bombs with a strip of this blanket." I motion to the object under my arm. "It won't be that obvious so he should be on the lookout for them."

"Why don't you tell him when you get back?" she asks curiously. I open and close my mouth, pause for a moment, and then reply.

"I don't think I'll be back for a while, and I want I make sure he knows." She narrows her eyes at me then comprehends. A part of me wonders if she's going to try to do something about it.

"Yeah, I'll tell him," she says with a nod. I mutter my thanks and begin to turn away when I notice her hand graze on her stomach. It was too relaxed to be a stomach pain, but too long to be a simple act. I eye her for a moment, considering asking her the question on my tongue, but I decide against it.

Picking up my things I walk away from the camp, hardly looking back as I move through.

* * *

><p>The moon is prettiest when you have that feeling of hope course through your body because then when you look up to the bright light in the sky, it isn't just a white sphere. It is a symbol of hope and love. It gives you light in the darkness and that is all anyone ever really wants.<p>

The thick black smoke from the Cornucopia dances around in the night sky. I crane my neck to look at it, the night glasses on my nose. It took many hard and arduous hours to get the bombs from the ground and properly placed, but it was worth it. At least, if I die sometime soon, I will be known as the first tribute to use the bombs. I'll be known for that much at least. Though being known as the tribute who wrecked havoc with tracker jacker venom is a lot better. I kept a couple of explosives and as much wires as I could get as a prize.

I walk through the graveyard with a smile, even though the atmosphere told me otherwise. On my way to my home for the next couple of days, I pause by Mack's gave, placing a hand on it. _Hope is all we have._

I continue on with a smile and scamper up into a tree a few meters away from the one with the nest. I get myself comfortable in between the branches and wrap myself in the sleeping bag and the now torn blanket.

_No matter what, keep on hoping._ I plan to, Mack. I can almost see his smiling face as I close my eyes and get my first restful sleep in days.


	45. Failure to Launch

**Bells and I would like to say...that we neither act like this or have such enhancements (even though they could actually be cool...XD)**

**Anyways, enjoy some lighthearted mockery at Bells and I's expense and some poking at some other members too. XD**

_**Quarter Quell Try-Outs**_

_**May 2012**_

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><p><strong>Yelof530's AN: I always feel the need to put one of these. Author's note, I mean. This chapter, I couldn't think up names so…well, you'll see where my mind drifted when you start reading. Thanks again, and hope you stay around with us.**

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><p><strong>Gamemakers<strong>

**By Yelof530**

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><p>She'll notice you, I pep talk myself. Just relax. Being the rookie Gamemaker hasn't been the best experience, although, better than those days as intern. I shiver at the scarring memories, forcing them back down in the deepest realms I had them hidden them. Those days are long gone, Meeg. But I seriously need to start getting somewhere with my life. First by impressing the prestigious Head of Gamemaking.<p>

I slip into my chair again, rolling my sleeves up to my elbows. Despite being a Gamemaker, I've been shafted the lowest jobs and designations. I scan over my fingers and the tension in me deflates, just the tiniest bit. Good. Still have all ten. Phoenix had ordered me to go check on the mutts and they always somehow find such joy in pecking at my digits. They've certainly grown. A week ago, these mutts were mere undefined blobs of matter. But viewing them now, I see they have solidified into the monstrosities requested. The likeness is breath-taking and I can't help but step closer to see those small details. Closer, that is, until one makes a snatch for my body. I check off each clipboard by each caged fiend and attempt to relax.

Now, back in the sanity of a simple Gamemaker's chair, I release a long, ragged sigh. Still, there's more work to be done. When first established, the Hunger Games had been a steady reminder to the Districts, that for every action, there is an equal and opposite reaction. Viewers watched their TV screen solemnly, faces scrunched up seriously and watched the tributes compete with snide satisfaction. However, times have changed. Capitolites view the Games as more of a…spectacle. Through the years, a certain showman's quality has been added, a nice polish to all events to take place. People see the Games as a time to rejoice and be proud to be a citizen of not just Capitol, but all of Panem.

Head Gamemaker Phoenix paces behind us, peering over our shoulders at the monitors before us. In the times before the tributes were dropped into the arena and the occurrence of true action, Phoenix had been suitably calmer, prone to her occasional laughs and smirks. She wasn't exactly cheerful and kind, which is not the way of a citizen of her standard, but had an ounce of humanization in her.

However, all this was washed away with the start of the true Game. Gamemaker Phoenix underwent a transformation, her jaw clamped down and eyebrows furrowed into a permanent assertive stare. She was quick to give you a smack upside the head, even quicker to chew you out on mistakes, no matter the magnitude. She doesn't care what you had for lunch of how you just had your eyebrows redone. Her business is in the Games and if you get in the way, well, Mama Badger is going to run you down.

I idolize that woman like nothing else.

This has been the most ambitious Games thus far. And with those few…crazies tossed in, it has been a true masterpiece. Word of the excitement has spread like Rousseau's flames, tearing down and depleting everything in its path. "Amazing job done by our Gamemakers!" the reporters announced. "What else to expect?"

It is that question that leaves us at a pivotal point now. Yes, the unique setup of the arena is, er, unique. But the Gamemakers of the Twenty-Fourth Hunger Games are not simple one-trick ponies. There are many other dangers for these tributes to face.

Like right now.

The crowds have grown tired, there being no deaths since day one. Being day four now, this is obviously no good.

I scroll over the data running along the screen before me. Vitals are adjusted with quick taps across my work tablet and I find myself acting with a baited breath. We needed to so carefully watch everything, ensuring our creations didn't die upon being released into the arena. It's mind boggling to think the damned creatures' health could alter so drastically from the length of time it takes for me to travel from their chamber back to the Gamemaker headquarters. Phoenix has reiterated the importance of these mutts and the long hours of research and work she had to endure to make them work. A smile twists up into my features and I spend a few moments examining the blue prints and design details on them.

It's one of those mutts whose teeth sink deeper than just the flesh; it allows whatever small piece of mind the tribute had to be torn apart, sewn roughly back together, and thrown into a pit of spikes. Pit of spikes…that'd be a brilliant idea! I should bring that up with Gamemaker Phoenix. Yes, she'll love it!

I'm broken from my awkward grinning by the Gamemaker next to me. She's seriously going to town as she adjusted various traps and different camera angles. Phoenix leans in over her shoulder and my body stiffens. Here I am lollygagging, looking like I'm spacing out like some…spacer. Have to work on my similes.

"Bring that up onto the main screen?" she requests. My eyes flicker up, as do everyone else's, as the live Games is projected onto the wall.

"Which one is that one again?" Phoenix squints. The girl stumbles wearily across the desert scene, cheeks reddened by the bright sun. Her eyes gleam in the light of the setting sun and by the way she smacked her lips, I could tell she was thirsty.

"Tara of District Twelve," I pipe up. The giddiness in my voice is all too evident and I clear my throat afterwards. Phoenix doesn't glance my way, instead brushing the fiery mass of red and yellow strands from her face. Her pupils dilate and the sliver of topaz in her irises shine in the glow of the computer screens and fluorescent lighting, like they always do when something exciting is about to occur. The adrenaline starts coursing through my own veins and I prop my elbows up and rest my head in my hands' palms.

The dark-haired girl trips and lands limp on the sand. My eyes flicker up to a screen off to the side, and see her heart is still pumping.

The walls around our semi-circular chamber are covered by digital screens as well, these displaying a map of human outlines and health ratings. It reminds me of a darkened version of the subway maps I used when I was traveling those routes with my mother and father. For each outline, there was a tribute whose vital signs were recorded and displayed to get a general idea on their state of health. Some have unlit with the tribute's death, while others blink different lights and symbols. A sector of one of these outlines, the girl from District Eleven, Lily Cross, is a deep red. It started at her stomach one day one, but has gradually been creeping out to the rest of her body. Some have a few scratches here or there, like Aleah and Aella, and several others.

Head Gamemaker Phoenix continues pacing past the Gamemakers. All of their backs had become rigid in anticipation, their purple robes sliding down from where they were pushed up to their elbows. I glance to my monitor, and notice the some of the oxygen levels lowering. My frantic fingers blunder along my keyboard and certain chemicals are boosted up back into them. I click on a live-cam button and can't help but grin. The mutts resisted returning to their hibernation state but gradually fall into an at least light slumber. When given the cue, I'll be allowed to awake them.

"Furies," Phoenix barks. "Start up the quicksand."

Instantly, Tara begins sinking down. She jerks her arms up; meanwhile, her legs are suctioned into the ground. The tribute thrashes wildly and tumbles to the side. Sand is thrown up by her limbs, and the girl crawls several feet before her feet find stable ground and stands full height. Soon, though, she begins sinking again and fights hard to keep from the burial. I see Furies, the Gamemaker, flicking various switches to keep this torture going. Her forehead is creased in concentration, her tongue sneaking between her sharp two front teeth as she focused.

"Split the scenes up to the closest target tributes, will ya', Bells?" The Gamemaker beside me jabs her enter key. No longer is a struggling Tara Tremain on the screen but Elia Zervakos of District Four, District Eight's Oak Loaker, and District Ten's Boston Williams. Through various means, (my favorite, by far, being the living vines that snatched the tribute's feet and jerked them forward) they begin to come together, into the graveyard. My muscles tense as I realize my important job of releasing the mutts is arriving.

Mama Badger mode is on overload now. Head Gamemaker Phoenix bellows orders, returning to her own monitor and making a few adjustments. The Gamemakers frenziedly continue on.

"Meeg, now." A nervous tremor causes my fingertips to twitch and the pounding of my heart is so heavy it hurts. My face's muscles ache from grinning so broadly and my hand hovers over the key. This is it, my shot to stardom. One of the biggest steps in the Games so far, a way to stir up the audience and have them screaming for more. Nothing like this has been done before. With this press of a button, I shall unleash the greatest nightmare ever forced upon these unsuspecting tributes. They shall never question the power of the Capitol; see the wrongs they have done by rebelling. The Capitol's power will be implemented for all to see, for the Districts to see and learn from to know they should never again try to go against us….

My hand is shoved aside and the Gamemaker on my left slams down the release button. My _O_ shaped mouth gawks at the hand and my eyes travel the length of the arm to gawk at the face that took away my chance.

"What?" Gamemaker Xander blinks at me. "You were taking too long, Meeg."

I stammer on words incoherently, debating on what would be the most appropriate response. Gamemaker Bells laughs beside me. "Monologue-ing in your head again?"

My mouth opens and closes several times. A strange noise starts up in the back of my throat and I try not to slam my face into my keyboard.

"Sorry, rookie," Xander shrugs. "Better luck next time? I say a better attention-span would help, too."

My opportunity; gone. Meekly, I stare at the screen. Not even the hysterical cries and fearful whimpers of the tributes can possibly cheer me up. Well, actually, maybe just a little…but still. I lean on my elbow and pout. Damn, Xander.

"Tributes are in the graveyard," Phoenix announces, taking her position of power in her elevated chair in the back. "Mutts have been released."

She grips the arms of her chair, her jaw set in determination. "Now we watch."


	46. A is for Liar

Phoenix here! Thanks ever so much for all your wonderful reviews and favouriting! We'll be sure to get to all of you (we're a bit behind, I've had some IRL stuff going on and Bells is amazing just being able to deal with the mountain of schoolwork her school calls "normal")!

Anyways, this is what the Gamemaker chapter hinted at. I hope it's more terrifying than you even dreamed! Oh God! I'm channeling Head Gamemaker Phoenix now 0_0. Anyways, I'm going to stop before I get anymore goofy or something.

_**Quarter Quell Try-Outs **_

_**May 2012**_

_****Maybe this year you'll learn your place Tributes._

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><p><span>Packman23's AN: _So, in this chapter, I wanted to focus a little more on Boston's relationship with Roy, since I really like that character and thought the interaction would be interesting. It's also the chapter where it finally happens. Where Boston finally loses it. I wanted to make sure that crazy Boston was as different from the normal, monotone, no exclamation-marks Boston I normally use, so I made sure to really change style when I flip his lid. See what you think! Comments are always welcome._

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><p><strong>Boston Williams, District 10<strong>

**By Packman23**

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><p><em>Deep into that darkness peering, long I stood there wondering, fearing, <em>  
><em>Doubting, dreaming dreams no mortals ever dared to dream before; <em>  
><em>But the silence was unbroken, and the stillness gave no token, <em>  
><em>And the only word there spoken was the whispered word, "Lenore!" <em>  
><em>This I whispered, and an echo murmured back the word, "Lenore!"<em>  
><em>Merely this, and nothing more.<em>

_Edgar Allen Poe's The Raven_

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><p>Vienna. My Vienna.<p>

She haunts me in my dreams. She crawls from every crack in the ground, every drop of blood that seeps out of the corpse of Vaughn Shumway. It's always the same dream now, it has been since Vienna died. Vaughn lies in the center of my dream, his eyes bulging, his face distorted in a grimace of pain as I twist the spear inside him and watch him flail and twitch. His blood bubbles up, frothing and sparking like oil before seeping together into the form of my precious Vienna. She looks so beautiful after death, her eyes a sky blue, her hair a pale blonde, like spun silk. The pain in my chest grows stronger every time I see her. She's so beautiful like this. Now that she no longer exists.

They took her away after all. Her precious boy, the burnt skeleton, held her in his arms as she drifted off, muttering to her in his strange, dead tongue.

"Don't worry, Bosty," she tells me, "We'll be together soon."

"I-I couldn't protect you," I tell her, but she shushes me every time I do.

"It doesn't matter, Bosty," she giggles, "Of course you couldn't protect me. You couldn't protect any of us. Not Onyx, not Vaughn, not me."

"Why." I wish, every time I dream those words, that there could be any emotion in them, but there never is. I'm pretty sure there never will be.

Vaughn twitches and froths under my grip, blood pours from his throat and then he sits up before slowly dragging himself to his feet.

"Silly Bosty," Vienna titters, "You need to protect your family. They're not dead."

"But you're dead."

"But I'm not your family, Bosty," Vienna mumbles, drifting off into the murk and the darkness of my dream, to leave Vaughn to slowly twitch and stumble to his feet, "I'm Skye. I barely know you..."

"Don't worry," Vaughn manages to croak, his own face beginning to crackle into black dust, "We don't mind. Me and Rena. We don't care what you did to us. We forgive you. I hope we can be friends when you get here..."

I hope that too, and I tell them as much. I want some friends. I need them so badly.

And then my dream deteriorates into an eternity of black.

Is it any wonder I can't sleep. I decided to take look-out duty for the night because I thought it would be easier on me to just stay awake all night and not have to worry about those bizzare dreams. But even awake, nothing seems right. I've lived in District 10 all my life. The sky is full of stars. This maze's sky has no stars. The sky is a black blot, and it's darker than it has any right to be.

Maybe if Vienna was still here, I'd feel happier about all of this. She's the reason the dreams started after all. She died. My sister took my sanity away from me, and now my emotions are beginning to push my way through the cracks.

I've ran out of sisters or, as Aleah would so eloquently put it, the 'dog pack' has ran out of bitches. Vienna and Onyx both lie dead in some Capitol morgue somewhere, while Elia and Jules have fled me. They hate me for not being able to protect them. I tried, I really did, but how am I supposed to protect them when they're all so far away.

A clatter from the weapon's wrack behind me startles me, and I spin round to see the burnt skeleton standing there, fiddling with a long, thin sword. There's something playing on his face. A sad frown I think. I'm getting better at this emotion thing, but I'm still not there yet.

"It's my turn to watch," Roy snaps, making it sound more like this more of a job than the Games, "Want me to take over?"

"You get some sleep." I mumble, trying to sound like I care about his welfare, "You need it more than I do." The lanky teen grits his teeth before flicking his sword out and smashing the side of it into the back of my head. I give a groan, falling to the floor and rubbing the bruise that is already forming there.

"Yeah right," Roy snarls, spinning the sword in his hand and then sitting down next to me, "You're a mess. A jerk, but a mess. Get some damn sleep."

"No," I mutter and Roy's grimace darkens.

"Yes," Roy spits, grabbing my arm and trying to pull me away from the position I have been sitting in for the past few hours. Me being much bigger than him, it doesn't go very well. "You get some damned sleep! I'm not dragging you along for the whole day because you're too stupid to get some goddamn sleep!"

"Then kill me," I snarl, throwing his arm off of me. "You have a sword. Only one of us can win. Kill me." Roy stares at me, face aghast.

"You're not serious..."

"Why not." I mumble, a yawn breaking it's way through my mouth as I try to keep my eyelids apart, "One of us is going to have to die."

"Yeah but, but...I mean—!" Roy roars jolting backwards, away from me, "What the hell?"

"Kill me," I repeat, my voice flat and unmoving, "It's what you're supposed to do."

"Yeah, I know," Roy falters, "But we're allies! I mean, I knew you were a freak, but I never thought...I mean, I'm not supposed to...What the hell is wrong with you, Boston?"

What _is _wrong with me?

I just asked someone to kill me in a Game based entirely on surviving, so you can protect those you care about. But there's no one left I do care about. My family is half the size it was.

The pair of us sit in silence for quite a while after that. My eyes keep drooping, my head lolling, but I force myself to stay awake. Finally, just as the question that hangs heavily in the air is beginning to drift away, I speak.

"I can't sleep," I sigh, my voice wavering slightly, "I can't face Vienna." Roy sighs, tossing his sword into his left hand and wrapping his right arm, slowly and incredibly awkwardly, around my shoulder. I don't react when he touches me, but it's nice to have some actual human contact that isn't to do with violence.

"This again," Roy says, a slight smile playing on his lips as he remenisces, "I should have known. Aleah right?" I nod, "It's all you've been talking about ever since...ever since..." His face droops, "Since Skye died."

Skye. The girl in my dreams, that was her name. It's a pretty name, Skye. Like the birds. My Skye. My Vienna. Why did she leave me?

But, looking at him, it's not just me. The burnt skeleton, with his skin stretched across his frame and covered with all manners of scars, has tears in the corners of his eyes. It strikes me that, since I came to the Games, no, since before I came to the Games, I've never spotted something like that before. I've always been so intent on keeping my own emotions down, that I've never noticed the feelings of others.

"You cared about her." I ask, as more of a statement than a question.

"Yeah," Roy chokes, "Yeah, I cared about her."

"She wasn't just your next victim?"

Roy turns on me, his eyes dark. "I thought I made this clear, Boston," he sighs, wiping his eyes, "She was never just my victim."

There is a moment of silence between us and, for a second, I know that we've come to some sort of understanding. A smile crosses over his face and, despite myself, I feel myself smiling back at him. It feels like I haven't smiled in days. I guess I haven't.

Suddenly a clang sounds, breaking through the coolness and quiet of the night and ruining what I suppose could have been a very tender moment.

In an instant Roy is on his feet, staring wildly around for the source of the noise. Hyre is up too, his eyes wide, an axe from the pile grasped in his hand. Next to him Elia slips off a shrub, eyes wild, gripping a trident. I can't help but feel I might have been wrong about Elia. I mean, she's not the most sociable girl, but since we've been in the Arena she's been a lot closer to us, especially Hyre. She even shared some fish with us earlier today, which was decent enough I guess. Claus, who still hasn't quite cleaned off all the blood from his kill on day one, is the last one up. His eyes are misty with sleep as he reaches for a blade.

It's chaos. For my part, I grab a hammer and stand completely still, shaking. I'm not moving. I'm not going to move. Wait for someone to come to me. That way I can't kill anyone else.

That way I won't have the dreams anymore.

I hope.

Anarchy reigns the Career camp as the other three each assess the situation, looking for the source of the sound. Each of them coming to different conclusions, before turning to head off in their own directions. In the cocophony of noise I forget who says what. I lose the sound of my own voice as other voices cling to my mind, unable to tell how many voices I am hearing are real, or who they belong to.

"West! Head West! The sound came from the West!"

"What the hell is going on here? What the hell is going on?"

"Oh God! Not again! Please not again! I don't want to kill anyone else!"

"East, godammit! East!"

"Who have we killed? Who?"

"Why does it have to be so dark? Can't see a bloody thing!"

"Weapons! Grab as much as you can while we still have the chance!"

"Vienna."

"Evacuate!"

"WHO HAVE WE KILLED?"

The four of us turn to look at Roy, his face as red as his hair and dripping with sweat. The camp is instantly silent, "Thanks for listening." He mutters, "Now, who have we killed?"

"Vaughn." I mumble, and Roy nods, "Rena maybe. She scurried away."

"One and a half for you then." Roy nods.

"Sapphire," Hyre states, spinning his axe in his hand, "Injured another guy. District 9, I think."

Elia says nothing, but just glares at Roy, exhaling heavily through her nose. She finished Rena off. We've all heard the story.

"I got Mack," Claus replies after a long wait, hanging his head, "Apparently."

"Yeah, lovely," Roy drawls, "So that's four dead for the four of us then?" We all nod. "Yeah. So we're killers. Why are we running around like headless chickens when we're the tough ones in these Games. We're the ones who've killed the most, and we're the guys who have all the supplies! Why is some bang getting us all jumpy? Come on. The shot came from the East."

As if to confirm his point the shot fires again, this time accompanied by a flash of light coming from somewhere to the East of us.

"Shouldn't we just stay here?" Claus asks, "I mean, it's pretty obviously a trap."

"So what?" Roy sneers, "If it's a trap, that means it has tributes near it. If it has tributes near it, that means we can get this Games over with quicker. We're Careers. We kill people. There's no point in trying to stay away from the violence. Besides, my stomach can't take much more of this pre-packaged junk. Good food or death, that's what I'm aiming for. By the end of the week I'm either gonna be stuffing myself with food or dead, so I don't see any harm in hurrying it all up!"

The four of us nod in agreement, heading out to the site of the sound, but Roy stops Hyre as he slopes off, placing a hand on Hyre's chest and shoving him backwards slightly.

"Stay here," Roy whispers to him, just loudly enough for me to catch as I stand nearby, "Keep the stuff safe. We don't want anyone coming along while we're gone and taking it. Anything goes wrong and this turns out to be a trap, you're in charge of any survivors. Unless one of them's me." He gives a dry chuckle, before turning and beginning to walk away.

"Why?" Hyre shouts after Roy as the pyromaniac beckons Claus and me to follow him.

"You're the only proper Career I know!" Roy chuckles, "Besides, the rest of us are nuts! How do you expect Claus or Boston would run this alliance? It'd be anarchy! I'm I right Elia ma..." He spins theatrically on his heels and the words catch in his throat.

She's not there. The look on Roy's face might have been funny if it were on anyone else I guess. His mouth hangs there for a while, his eyes bulging out of his head like some species of overgrown lizard that you sometimes find on the outskirts of District Ten. There's a few seconds of silence as we listen to her footsteps disappear into the distance. Her footsteps don't seem that fast, like she's just leisurely making her way down to the place where the sound came from. For a moment I want to believe that maybe she's just distracted by her thoughts, maybe she's just wandered off and thinks we're with her, but I know that can't be true. She's abandoned our family. She's chosen her side.

Claus nervously licks his lips, before realising that there's still a bit of blood around his mouth and spitting on the ground. The bright red spittle crashes into beads when it hits the ground and splatters across the grass. It's a tiny noise, a miniscule, barely audible plop, but it's enough to break the silence.

Roy grits his teeth, veins popping on his neck and his face turning an even deeper shade of red as he hurls an impressive array of expletives at the sky. Among them are about every swear I've ever heard, as well as a few I didn't know were swears and some I think he just made up, although he does miss a few important ones. I guess District One really is a world away from District Ten.

"Better?" Claus asks when Roy is finished, and the teen sighs, deflating somewhat, before turning to Hyre and waving his hand in front of his face in a bored manner.

"Gods sake Hyre," Roy wheezes, "Save me from this madhouse will ya?" He rounds on us, "Right. You two. With me. With any luck we can find out what the hells going on and track down Little Miss Disappear at the same time." He steps passed Hyre, patting him on the shoulder as he goes, "Anyone try and sneak up behind us. Give 'em hell from me alright?"

Hyre shrugs, sitting dutifully down on a rock near our pile of supplies and crossing his axe across his legs. He hunches himself up and stares out down the passageway. Roy walks on without another word, as does Claus, but I keep looking behind me, watching the boy's stony features until he is swallowed up by the maze's hedgerows and disappears from sight.

I clutch the hammer tightly as we snake our way through the maze, sticking close to each other for fear that some crazy will jump us at any moment. I can almost see Aleah now, hissing curses as she makes her way towards me, circling me as she looks for the perfect place to strike to end my life. I will crush her if I ever see her again. She's not to big. It's not like she'll be able to fight back. The girl's a priveledged schoolgirl, not a fighter. She's only made it this far because she got lucky.

And I will make sure she makes it no further. I will rip her face from her body if it is the last thing I ever do and I will grind it into a bloody pulp. And there's no way anyone. Not my family, not even sweet Vienna, can stop me.

As we draw nearer to the sound of gunshots, now firing regularly and accompanied by regular flashes of light, I notice Roy trying to catch my eye.

"Yes." I mutter, not turning to look at him.

"That Vienna girl," Roy begins, seeming to regain some of his confidence as the two of us follow him down the passageways. "The one you're always going on about, who is she exactly?"

I sigh. I knew I'd have to answer this eventually. Roy doesn't even seem to be able to remember that he was the one who held her in his arms as she was dying. "She's my sister." I respond, "She's dead now. She comes to me in my dreams."

"Creepy." Roy chuckles, apparently trying to make light of the situation. A rather futile task, I fear. "Now I see why you don't want to sleep. Jeez, if my relatives kept visiting me in my sleep, I'd never want to sleep again!" I don't laugh, and yet another awkward silence follows. Roy gives his sword a few practice swings, pointlessly retesting its balance and weight.

"What's the plan if things go wrong?" Claus asks, twirling a knife nervously in his fingers. It's a question that's been niggling at the back of my mind, what do we do if it all falls apart.

"You run." Roy grins, "You run back to base as fast as your legs can carry you and don't look back. Same goes for you Boston, just try to knock a few guys jaws off on the way out! It'd be a pity if someone as big as you didn't live up to that Training Score they gave you!"

Something inside of me stirs as he says that, and I grip my hammer tighter.

"What about you?" Claus asks.

"Me? I stay behind to guard the rear of course. I'm the head of this alliance, I've got to start acting like it, just like Elia said." Roy hangs his head as we carry on walking, "I've let too many of us die already. It was too soon for them, they should have lasted longer..."

I have a new respect for Roy as he says that, and I say no more to him for the rest of our walk. I know now why he's made Hyre his second in command. Onyx was his old assistant, and her death hit us all, but especially Hyre, hard, even if I never really liked the girl. Roy's trying to make up for his failure to protect Onyx. I thought he was just some crazy monster, but, at the end of the day, he's so much like me.

I wonder if that makes me a crazy monster.

I talk a little to Claus as the walk drags on. He's a quiet one, like me, answering mostly with one word comments and nods. It makes our discussion rather sparse, but the understanding we come to is wonderfully refreshing.

I have never felt more at home than I do right now, with my family by my side.

It's not long after that we turn the corner and stop dead. Infront of us lies not another maze of hedgerows, but a sparse, almost verticle slope, leading down to a long stretch of flat, dusty brown earth. Dotted periodically along the earth are several small, flat slabs, their tops rounded, small words etched into them at regular intervals. The expanse stretches out as far as the eye can see but is dominated, far in the distance, by twenty four pale, marble statues, raised up high above the slabs, as though lauding over the world. The statues look familiar, like something I saw in one of Washington's old school textbooks. The statues represent humans, neither noticabley male nor female, their hands raised in front of their faces, covering their eyes.

And below us fight the monsters. An army of shambling, shrugging beasts crawl and gnash and stumble their way towards a group of helpless tributes, who have entrentched themselves behind the slabs and are defending themselves in any way they can. The tributes aren't what interest me though. What interests me are the monsters. Below me I can spot the tubby form of a certain District 6 tribute who I know for certain is deceased, along with his equally dead district partner, each of them groping for the girl from District 12, who shrieks and struggles as she tries to get away. A man I've never seen before strikes down at the kid from District Eight, Oak Loaker I think he was called, and most interestingly of all a small blonde girl totters towards a certain red-headed deserter, who backs away, a dagger flying through the air and impacting into the dead girl's chest. She stumbles backwards, but doesn't fall, grinning widely and pressing onwards.

Next to me Roy stiffens, recognising the form almost instantly.

"Sk-Sk-Sk..." Roy stutters, eyes wide as he slowly backs away from the scene below us.

"Is that Elia?" Claus asks, squinting down at the red head backing away from the girl.

"Sh-sh-she's a goner." Roy gulps, backing away from the area as yet another gunshot sounds, this one very definitely coming from the heads of one of the angel statues at the back of the fight. "This was a bad idea. Does anyone else think this was a bad idea? We should get out of here." Claus sighs, shaking his head and turns to go and I follow suit. As I'm turning, however, something catches my eye. Or, to be more exact, someone.

She looks like she's fighting a short, dark haired boy who is clearly to young to be in the Games prancing and spinning around her like a ballet dancer. She looks like she hasn't noticed me as she pricks and slashes at the child's body, kicking it's face in and toppling it over into the muck, but I can tell she has. She always notices me, she loves it. Loves torturing me with her cruel tongue. Aleah snickers as she stabs a dagger straight through the chest of my little brother Washington. Black blood bubbles up and the Mutt chokes on it and shrivels like a prune, it's body decaying and blackening faster than a leaf caught in an oven. I know it's a Mutt. It has to be a Mutt.

It has to be...

She killed my brother. My kid brother.

As if I needed more of a reason to hurt her.

"ALEAH!" I roar, leaping down the slope and tumbling into the battleground. Behind me the other two hesitate, Roy slowly backing away before, with a roll of his eyes, Claus grabs Roy, dragging him from where he stands and hurtling after me.

The Careers cut a bloody swathe through the army of whatever-the-hell-they-are, as we head directly towards the snake-faced teen. For a second a small thing, a spear jutting out of it's chest like some weird third arm, charges at me. It's supposed to be Vaughn Shumway. I guess I'm supposed to feel scared of it. I'm supposed to feel sorry for it. I can't tell you what I feel, except rage.

The spear through the chest makes an effective lever with which I am able to heft the Mutt off of its feet and hurl it into the ground with so much force that its neck breaks. It tries to stand, only to be instantly set upon by Claus, who slashes through its windpipe and moves swiftly on to what I can only assume, from how similar they look to him, are Muttation depictions of his parents. He swiftly moves on as I duck past and smash in the skull of the District 6 female and an old man who I've never met before wearing a necklace with a dead tracker jacker attatched. After that comes an eyeless Heath, who is quickly taken out by Roy and the corpse of Relk Stein.

This one puts up a much more spirited effort than the original, leaping at me with a squeal of delight and grabbing my ankles. When a few taps to its skull doesn't dislodge it, I decide to rip its head off, but it scurries out of the way even as my hands close around its forehead. Next thing I know it has dropped from above and is clawing at my face with its pudgy fingers. I tear it off, hurling it as far as I can and watching as it spins through the air, before flipping to its feet and completing an impressive triple somersault through the air and gripping onto my chest, somehow wrestling me to the ground despite being even smaller and, from how much it weighs, denser than the original. It rips my shirt open, mumbling in a slurred speech about 'cake', and then begins to devour my chest hair. I have to admit, when I came into these Games I did not anticipate having my hair ripped out and eaten. It's really a rather surreal experience. It all ends for Relk as bizarrely as it started, when Claus stabs it through the neck. I bring my hammer up into its head, flinging it through the air to the feet of the deceased District Twelve male, Clude. Deciding that Relk is of more use as food, Clude devours it, before his (ex) District partner runs him through with a surprisingly large spear.

I fling the last Mutt out the way and glare down at the tiny form of snake-faced Aleah Armani.

"Aleah," I snarl, crossing my arms behind my back and forcing a savage smile.

"Bosty!" The girl grins, like she's been waiting to see me since the Games started four days ago, "Sorry, big dog, but I can't talk right now. Can you just go off and die somewhere?"

"You expect me to die."

"Well why not? You're just dumb muscle, you're going to die pretty soon, so why not make it now? It would certainly make things easier for me." She gives a little giggle and flicks her wrist, flinging a small, cruel-looking dagger directly at my face. It's not a good shot and, rather than killing me, like I'm sure it's supposed to, it just cuts my cheek open. Blood spurts out, splattering my features and the dark ground below me. The ground is stained an odd red colour and my mind along with it. My vision blurs blood red and my fists clench. Swinging the hammer that I had hidden behind my back, I take a few running steps forwards and crash the thing directly into her legs. Her mouth is still stretched into that obnoxious smile but the scream that flies out of her tells me that she most certainly doesn't like what she feels. I smile, bringing the hammer back around as she falls, knocking her feet from under her and dumping her in the mud. I take a few more steps forwards, lifting my hammer.

"Guess you won't be making it to the final twelve, then," I slur, my voice hazy and indistinct under the waves of bloodlust that clings to my mind.

My hammer arcs down, but before it can land, a hand reaches out, brushing my shoulder.

I look behind me to see a small girl smiling at me.

_"What's wrong Bosty?"_

Her blonde hair is like spun silk. She looks wonderful. Breathtaking.

_"I don't want her ending up as anyone else's victim, either."_

She bats her eyelashes at me and opens her mouth, revealing bloodstained teeth. Vienna takes another step towards me.

_"No? That doesn't make any sense, you know, Bosty!"_

She simpers at me and grips my skin, breaking through it with her long nails.

_"That's a silly name! Why do you think they call themselves that?"_

Her face presses itself close to mine. Her blue eyes flutter, she opens her mouth and her sweet, silky voice slips out of her mouth like honey.

"We are made of flesh, bone, and blood."

It sounds like a speaker. A broken speaker, scratchy and sudden. Her face is rotten and dead, a few maggots crawling here and there through it. It's not beautiful, it used to be, but now, it's filled with rot and insects. Her once wonderful hair is filled with dirt. I can see the stitches where they put her back together.

She's not Vienna. And she's clawing at me.

The ball of emotions in my chest bursts open, splitting my heart open and disintegrating it as rage floods my system. My eyes stain with blood. All my nerves fire off at once, causing an excrutiating pain to shoot directly through my body. My mind melts. My hearing becomes a thousand times greater and then dies in an instant, before returning to me and repeating. Everything that makes me me is ripped away and replaced with something vicious and snarling. I turn my head to the sky and scream.

My allies gawk at me. The things begin to shamble closer, legs and arms missing. Aleah chuckles, lifting herself shakily to her feet before collapsing, unable to stand.

"So, Bosty, finally snapped hu..." Aleah trails off as I reach for the Skye thing that clings to me. It's head snaps off easily. I wonder if Aleah's will too.

There is a brief pause. Then everyone rushes me.

My face carves itself into a grin as I step forward, lashing out in all directions with my hammer. Limbs and heads fly in all directions. Rena, Skye, Vienna, Heath. Even Relk returns, apparently indigestable.

Aleah gasps as a severed arm flies through the air, landing directly next to her, her eyes bulge and I think I might even see a few tears. Aww. How precious. I've made Aleah Armani cry! Does the baby want a bottle, huh? Does she?

Well, she's going to have to wait, I have monsters to deal with.

In a matter of minutes the herd is significantly thinned. I spin on my feet, a grin plastered across my features.

"Heh. Eheh. Ehehehehehe. UAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHUA!" Their faces warp in fear as I, Career Boston, surge forward. A small girl, District 12, lifts her hands to stop me. I lash out with my fist, catching her on the chin and she fights back, cutting at my legs and arms. I smile, lifting her off of her feet and swinging her around a bit, watching her flail. Her eyes darken and she shoves the sword she is holding straight into my leg. Roaring, I throw her to the ground, watching as the blade bounces out of her hand and twists along the ground. In an instant, her sword is mine and she is lying on the floor, her face set in fury.

"You-you monster," She gasps, clutching her bleeding side, "You goddamn monster!"

"mOnsTER?" I smile, my voice cracking and bleeding, "YesSs! YES! i LikE ThaT iDEa! I lIKe It very VERY MUCH!" The sword arcs upward through her chest and out her back as, simultaneously, the hammer crashes into her face and she collapses, a bloody heap.

This-this is wonderful! I've never felt so alive!

Boston never felt like this! Boston never knew what killing felt like! Not proper killing! He never knew what it was like not to kill for anger or vengeance! He never knew what it was like killing for fun!

But I'm not Boston now, am I? My family aren't the Williams', they're the Careers! I'm a Career! A Career? I'm the Career! Killing is the family buisness!

Next I turn on Claus and Roy, who stare at me, horrified.

"One AnD A HaLF KillS?" I laugh, "TrY A mIlLiON!"

The two of them begin to back away and Claus opens his mouth to say something. Monster, I'm sure. I don't let him finish.

"GO ON THEN! RUN! RUUUUN!"

They do as they're told, clambering up the slope as quickly as they can and dashing away. I let them live. For now. Truly, I am merciful.

The gunshot fires again and a flash of light accompanies it but, this time, I can barely tell. I step over Tara, swinging my hammer around and catching another Mutt in the back of the head. Another spin on my heel reveals another kid, short, District 8, hidden behind one of the slabs. I step over to him, eyes wild and throw my hammer to one side. I want to feel this. He stares up at me, lifting a spear and jabbing it into my gut. It hurts, hurts a lot, but I push through the pain. Breaking the spear off where it enters my body I force his arms to one side. He fights back the best he can, but he's really nothing special. Sure he's strong but, thing is, I'm a hell of a lot bigger.

I smile, wrapping both hands around his neck and lowering him to the ground behind the slab. He chokes and splutters and twitches, trying as best he can to fight back, but by the end it's futile. His breathing has stopped long before his head touches the ground. I make certain by bashing his head against a slab reading 'Loaker' a few times just to make sure that, when I let go, he doesn't start breathing again.

RIP Tara Tremain.

RIP Oak Loaker.

I stride forward, kicking the body of Miss Tremain out the way as I go. Now, where's that Aleah?

"ALEAH!" I scream at the sky, "ALEAH! aLEE-HA! WHERE YA GONE, BABY! COME ON! COME PLAY WITH THE WOLVES! YOU WANT ME TO BITE, RIGHT?" I howl at the sky, before breaking out into another vicious laugh.

Something lands in my back and I turn, staring at Elia, District 4's special little bride.

"She's gone Boston," Elia roars, drawing another knife. "She's not here, you freak!"

Elia? Elia, Elia. There's something not right about that name. Something familiar. E-Lia. A-liA. A liar? No no, not A liar. Close though. Oh so close.

Aleah.

Elia, Aleah. Why didn't I see it before?

"No," I mutter, "NO! YOU LIE, ALEAH ARMANI! YOU LIE!"

"Aleah Armani?" Elia seems taken aback as I charge towards her, unarmed and furious, "What the f—"

"PREPARE YOURSELF!" I roar as I stampede foward, "PREPARE TO DIE!"


	47. Till Death Do Us Part, Sweetheart

**I haven't been to bed yet. WHOOOO! I also apparently can't shut up. Anyways... As you know, there's going to be a Quarter Quell soon. The very first. We're having a lot of fun planning it and believe me, you'll be excited to see it-we've even got a reason behind it. Plus, you'll get a mysterious glance into the Gamemaker's thoughts and actions when that begins. But anyways, can't say much more about that yet. There will be a link coming soon-POSSIBLY May 1st (if not a week or two after) for the try outs. It will be posted here. From the moment it's posted though, you'll have one-two weeks to apply. You have to be prepared to answer a lot of questions-personal and professional.**

**Anyways, any questions go to this account or to mine (Phoenix Refrain) or Belles (Isabugg). We are on this account at least once a day though-usually more. Everything gets answered though! Thanks for your continued love and support which has really kept us going through the difficult times we've had before. And as always "HAPPY HUNGER GAMES!"**

**The surprises definately aren't over. Update on Tuesday as usual!**

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><p><strong>Quarter Quell<strong>

**May 2012**

**"**_Maybe the rebels haven't been punished enough..."_

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><p><strong>Elia Zervakos, District 4<strong>

**By booksandmusic97**

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><p><em>If you're going through hell, keep going.<em>

_- Winston Churchill_

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><p>Day four in the arena. Nothing is as it seems here; the fir, spruce, oak and walnut trees look too perfect. I feel as if I am in one of Atticus's paintings. The most real thing in the arena seems to be the sunset that reminds me so much of home. The sky is ablaze with vivid color—fiery oranges, searing reds, sunshine yellows, and yet, the outer edges of the blazing sky have begun to cool with the indigo of night.<p>

Actually believing for a moment that I'm back home is District 4, I allow my tongue to peep between my lips for a split second to taste the salt in the air and wait to hear the crashing waves. I am truly disappointed when I'm met with nothing but the cool mountain air. No salt. No waves.

I hear nothing but the distant sound of an owl's _hoo-hoo._

I heave a sigh and close my eyes for a moment before once again making my pace match Roy's. We gingers are an endangered species. It's a shame that there are two—potentially three—in the arena right now.

My stomach starts growling and I realize I haven't eaten since yesterday afternoon. This can't be good for the baby.

"We should stop for the night, Roy," I say, throwing my trident at the ground like a dart, embedding it into the brownie-mix colored soil.

Roy turns to me, his disheveled mop of scarlet curls bouncing in front of his piercing cat-like eyes. He scratches his chin and asks, "Why right here?" It is more of a casual question than a challenge.

"I'm tired and hungry," I answer.

"Split personality much?" says Hyre.

I roll my eyes at him and make a sarcastic comment about his maturity, to which he just shrugs.

Roy, never one to argue with me, just nods his head. "We'll rest for the night. Elia, you and Hyre are on first watch shift."

There isn't any reason to question Roy on his decision, so I nod to him in reply and sit down beside my silver trident. I pull the pronged weapon from the earth and brush off the soil from the cool metal and place it across my lap with the gentleness of handling priceless china.

Hyre watches me intently through his dark and lustrous hair. In the fading sunset, one could easily mistake it for jet black, but the deep brown can be seen around the edges. Even when I turn away from him to open my black backpack I can feel his dark hazel eyes staring my direction. I ignore him and pretend that it doesn't bother me as I pull out dried vegetables and a recently caught fish. I start a small fire to cook the fish.

"You know a fire is the easiest way to be found, right?" scoffs Hyre.

"Do you honestly think I'd be building a fire right now if I weren't with you all? I'm not blonde, Hyre. Quite the opposite."

He shrugs. "What about Aleah?"

I pull a knife from around my waist and remove the pectoral fins. "I think if it were us—Claus, Roy, Jules, and Boston—against Aleah, we'd all make it out with minor injuries. Except maybe Aleah. Dismemberment for her, perhaps. Boston seems to really hate her."

_Just leave me alone, Hyre._

He says nothing more. Perhaps he reads minds.

I discard the pectorals into the fire and prepare to scale the fish when I feel a hand on my shoulder. The knife slips and darts across my right hand. I swear, drop the knife, and examine the cut. Luckily, it isn't deep. The knife only cut me enough to allow a ribbon of crimson to appear across my hand. Thank Rán I'm a lefty.

"Hyre, you idiot!" I snap in anger. "What the hell!"

"Show me how to prepare a fish," he says quietly.

"Don't you know how?"

"There aren't any fishing opportunities in District 2," his calm, even voice responds. "Show me, please Ellie?"

I wince at the nickname. "I'll show you. As long as you never call me Ellie again."

"Why ever not?" It is hard to tell if he is being serious or a smartass.

"My husband calls me that. And sometimes my favorite big brother. You are neither," I answer curtly.

"No need to be so terse, Matchstick."

I roll my eyes; I've been called worse. "Look. Do you want to learn how to prepare a fish or not?"

"Please. Begin."

Before I pick up the knife to scale the fish, I explain to the District 2 native that the first step is to remove the pectoral fins, which I have already done. Despite the animosity lingering in the air between my "ally" and I, this teaching experience is bringing out my caring side. As I show the brunette how to properly scale the fish, I can't help but to recall teaching my younger siblings to art of fishery. If I make it out of the arena, perhaps Alex and I will teach the art to our children.

Hyre interrupts my thoughts with another question. "Why is it so important to scale the fish _properly_? It's no different than skinning an animal, isn't it? There must be several ways to get it done."

I shake my head and tell him that that's not how you do it. "Fish are different," I explain no further.

I hold the fish firmly with my right hand and scrape the sharpened knife across the aquatic creature's body. As always, I am very careful to scale the often-neglected collar of the fish. The collar is by far the tastiest part, but left untouched, it is a complete waste.

Once the fish's body is smooth and the shiny scales are scattered across the ground, I explain to Hyre what the vent is, then locate it on the fish. The vent is small anal opening near the tail, where the body begins to widen. I drive the knife into the vent and cut right through the belly all the way to the gills with the precision of a master fisherman like my father and brothers. The cut is perfectly straight as far as I can tell, and even Hyre wastes his breath to compliment on my handiwork.

I continue to prepare the fish by completing the cut by forcing the knife through the bony portion that between the pelvic fins up to the base of the lower jaw, all the while explaining to my observer that fish preparation is an art with a process that must always be adhered to. Without hesitation, I reach my hand into the fish and grab at the organs to remove them. This part was always the most fun to teach to my siblings. Even my younger brothers were disgusted at the idea of holding the fish guts in their hands, but to me, it's one of the most natural things in the world. Sure, it takes some getting used to, but how else are we supposed to put food on the table?

Or in this case, on the wooden slab we made on day two that we've been using as a makeshift dining table.

I discard the guts into the flames, and remove the liver and swim bladder with a smaller knife. Hyre stills comments about how he doesn't think the process needs to be this strictly precise, and I ignore him this time, eager to complete the job and eat this fish.

"I still don't understand why you're so careful with that."

I pause, turn to Hyre, and sigh. "Think of it this way. It's like sex. If you have the wrong moves, it ends badly for the both of you."

Hyre lets out a burst of booming laughter. "I'm sorry, but did you just compare gutting a fish to sex?"

"Maybe," I giggle, returning to my job.

Finally, I remove the gills, head, and tail. Normally I would remove the dorsal fin and the bones attached to it as well, but there isn't time for that right now.

"Do you know how to cook a fish?" I ask him.

He shakes his head no, as I expected. I smile and grab his backpack. His contains a small frying pan, just large enough to cook the fish in. Hyre keeps a watchful eye on the fish as the brilliant orange and yellow flames dance around the frying pan.

Just as I pull the fish away from the flames, Boston emerges from the tent sent by Roy's sponsors the previous day. "Were you going to share that?" he asks coolly.

Something about Boston gives me the creeps. I lie and tell him yes, I did plan on sharing, when in reality, it was only meant for Hyre and me.

Upon hearing about my intentions to share, Boston greedily takes about half of the fish. My stomach rumbles again as I stare longingly at the fish in the District 10 tribute's hands. Boston then turns on his heel and retreats back into the tent to take a nap.

I heave an exasperated sigh and offer the remainder of the fish to Hyre. "I have dried fruit and I practically live off of fish back home. Take it."

Hyre shakes his head. "It might be the last fish you ever prepare."

My face contorts into a look of confusion. I know it is very likely I will die in the arena, but Hyre's prophesizing of my death is a little…out of line. Hyre realizes the error in his wording, and hurries to correct it.

"I didn't mean it like that. Well, sort of, but, not really. You know?"

I can't explain how, but I understand exactly what he means. Death is ever-present here in the arena. Even well-trained, intelligent, in shape tributes like Hyre and I are likely to die any day now. I turn to Hyre and once again offer him the fish. "It may be your last home-cooked meal."

Hyre stares at the cooked fish, then back at me. "It's not much. But we'll split it." He takes one of my knives and slices the fish in two. Without me asking, he gives me the bigger piece. I thank him, but he says nothing.

We eat in silence.

As soon as the last of the animal is devoured, Boston leaves the tent again. "It's my turn."

Hyre and I don't disagree. I pick my trident up from its resting place beside the smoldering fire. Hyre pulls back the canvas of the tent for me to enter, but I shake my head. "I'd rather sleep in a bush…or a tree. I like to see the stars."

Without hesitation, my peer from District 2 follows me when I turn to find a bush or a tree to rest in. I find a shrub that appears to be quite welcoming. Other than the facts that some of the branches are annoyingly poking me in the back, it's really comfortable and I'm prepared for a restful sleep.

Hyre walks back toward the tent and picks a spot on the forest floor between me and the tent to take his nap. He confuses me more and more by the minute. I stare at him until I hear the steady breathing indicating he is asleep.

"Good," I whisper, staring up at the stars.

I remember Alex telling me that he didn't realize the skies in the arena were fake until after his victory tour. When I asked him how he knew, he answered me in one word: 'Constellations.' Eventually, I got him to explain to me that all of the constellations we see in District 4—Camelopardus, Cassiopeia, Ursa Major, Ursa Minor, Draco, Libra, Lyra, and many others—can be seen in every single District as well as the Capitol. But not the arena.

As a child, my father would tell us stories about the southern hemisphere, where their stars are different from ours and there used to be a continent called Australia and a country called New Zealand, as well as many small island nations. I asked Alex if the hovercrafts perhaps took the tributes to this Southern Hemisphere. He shook his head and told me "no." His father told him stories about this place as well. His parents, Leo and Isobel, even have a book about it that is hundreds of years old. Alex said he studied the star maps in that book relentlessly after his revelation, but still, the stars in the arena did not match any of the star maps.

So I gaze into the sky and just try to find one familiar constellation. I search desperately for one; I crave it just as a child craves sweets. Much to my disappointment, Alex was right. Not only are there no familiar constellations, there are none. The astral space fails to provide any escape.

My stomach rumbles again, and I know that if I have any hope of getting through the arena and keeping my baby alive as well, I need to start eating more regularly; even a meager supply on dried fruit will do. But that has to wait until morning. Who knows if there's any more sponsor money left to supply more food, anyway?

_Alex._

I keep trying to not think of him, but the harder I try, the more he slips into my thoughts, and the more idle time I have, the more I think about him, anyway. It's impossible to get him off my mind. How can I? He's my mentor, my husband, my best friend, the father of my child. He promised to get us out of the arena. I have to remember that. I have to trust him.

I close my eyes and try to imagine what life after the arena may be like. He'll be the first person I'll want to see. Then we'll go home to District 4 and live in his house in Victor's Village like we have been for months. I'll be very pregnant by the time I have to go on my victory tour—that will be something fun to spring on Panem, wouldn't it?

I can see the headline of a Capitol gossip magazine now:

**Second Victor Zervakos Successfully Keeps Pregnancy Under Wraps in Arena**

I'll admit, it makes me smile.

Alex said he wanted a girl. I imagine a little girl. I want her to have Alex's black hair and blue eyes, but he wants a little redheaded girl so badly, and I imagine a little redhead instead. She'll be beautiful. My red hair, Alex's blue eyes, perfectly-proportioned ears and nose, gorgeous lips. She'll be a head-turner, but more importantly than her good looks will be her kind attitude. We'll raise her right, I know we will.

Images of my little ginger daughter and I dance in my head. Celebrating her first birthday, walking on the beach with her, teaching her how to swim, her getting to go through District 4's many rites of passage, such as the First Fish Ceremony, The Voyage, Spirit Journey, Russespringa…I remember how proud my mother and father were when I reached the age for all of the special ceremonies. I can't wait to get out of the arena so it can happen.

_A few more days, sweetheart, _I think as I run a hand across my still-flat stomach. _A few more days, and we'll be back with your Daddy._

I can't afford to think like it's just a _possi_bility that I'll make it out. I need to think like it is _inevita_bility going to happen.

_Just a few more—_

The sound of metal clanging about startles me from my thoughts. I see Hyre's head pop up from the ground, and then he pulls himself into a sitting position. He checks behind to see if I'm there. I hear voices coming from where the tent is, and point in that direction. We both focus on the conversation.

"…need it more than I do," drones Boston's unmistakable voice.

"Yeah right," Roy snarls. "You're a mess. A jerk, but a mess. Get some damn sleep."

"No," Boston replies.

"Yes," Roy spits, "You get some damned sleep! I'm not dragging you along for the whole day because you're too stupid to get some damn sleep!"

"Then kill me. You have a sword. Only one of us can win. Kill me."

"You're not serious..." Roy trails off.

"Why not." Boston mumbles. "One of us is going to have to die."

"Yeah but, but...I mean—" Roy roars. "What the _hell?_"

"Kill me." Boston drones. "It's what you're supposed to do."

"Yeah, I know," Roy falters, "But we're allies! I mean, I knew you were a freak but I never thought...I mean, I'm not supposed to...What the hell is wrong with you, Boston?"

Hyre shrugs and lays his head back down in the grass. I roll off of my shrub to grab my trident, and then reposition myself on the shrub. Something is up with Boston. I don't wish to be unarmed if he comes this way.

I catch the tail end of the next block of conversation.

"I thought I made this clear Boston," Roy sighs, "She was never just my victim."

_Skye? _I think.

Suddenly, a loud clanging rips through the stillness of the night air. I hop off my shrub for good this time and Hyre is quickly on his feet, axe in hand. Everyone is screaming at everyone else, trying to decide which way to go.

Roy finally declares that the sound came from the east.

As if the Gamemakers were confirming Roy's point the clang sounds again, accompanied with a flash of light this time.

"Shouldn't we just stay here?" Claus asks, "It's pretty obviously a trap."

"So what?" Roy sneers, "If it's a trap, that means it has tributes near it. If it has tributes near it, that means we can get this Games over with quicker. We're Careers. We kill people. There's no point in trying to stay away from the violence. Besides, my stomach can't take much more of this pre-packaged junk. Good food or death, that's what I'm aiming for. By the end of the week I'm either gonna be stuffing myself with food or dead, so I don't see any harm in hurrying it all up!"

He takes off running, and the rest of us follow closely behind him.

_We're Careers…we kill people…I'm still sick to my stomach over killing Rena Sage. I'll never forget…_

"Wait!" Roy exclaims. "Hyre, stay by the stuff!"

I don't stay to hear the rest of the conversation.

It isn't long before we reach the area from where the clanging and the light came from. In front of us is a steep slope, leading down to a long stretch of flat earth. Scattered across the ground are flat slabs with tops rounded, words etched into them. The land seems to go on forever, but that's not what I focus on.

Sitting in the distance, are twenty-four white statues, high above the slabs. The statues represent something, perhaps humans, but they lack any distinguishing gender characteristics. The hands of the statues cover their stony faces.

Below us, are these monstrous creatures. Horrible, disgusting beasts gnash their teeth and stumble toward a small group of tributes.

_Of course. Nobody has died since day one. Of course the Gamemakers are doing this._

I glance to my left hand just to make sure that my trident is still there. Taking a deep breath, I examine the grotesque beasts further, only to notice that most of them are gone. In their place are the tributes that I know to be dead.

The Gamemakers have really outdone themselves this time. Not only do they have these grotesque monster mutts, but they have mutts of the other tributes, here for us to fight. The slope we are standing on suddenly slants further downward, causing us to stumble our way down it and forcing us into the mess of mutts and tributes.

I am just getting used to my new surroundings when the figure of a petite girl with blonde ringlets stands before me. Her ice blue eyes, partially hidden by her golden curls, are cold, distant, and deadly.

The Gamemakers and their mind games make me want to laugh sometimes.

"Skye Azurite," I say, staring dead at her, "Pleasure seeing you again."

Mutt-Skye smirks at me and pulls a dagger from inside her jacket. "I should say the same for you, dear Elia. You were always very nice to me…too bad it's Roy that I need to be alive instead of you." The dagger flies from her hand and right toward me. I dodge it and pull my own dagger from the holster attached to my right leg and chuck it at Mutt-Skye's chest. She stumbles backwards, but doesn't fall.

I glance over to where the rest of the Career pack was, only to see that Roy and Claus are horror-struck. Boston's eyes are fixated on something else in the distance. I am on my own in defeating Mutt-Skye. She begins to advance on me again, so I pick up the dagger she'd thrown at me earlier and throw it at her stomach. The dagger buries itself into her abdomen and she trip over her own feet and collides with a tree. I take this opportunity to charge at her.

Picking up my own dagger along the way, I run at her as fast as I can and tackle her to the ground. I pull her own dagger from her body and cast it aside. She reaches up and grabs the hand wielding my own dagger.

"You think you're going to win, you idiot? You can't kill someone that's already _dead_."

"You're not really Skye Azurite, you genetically engineered abomination!"

I am able to wriggle my wrist from her grasp and without wasting any time, I bring the sharp tip of the dagger down on her chest with full force. The creature lets out an inhuman cry of pain as I yank it out and force it in again. A thick coating of black blood cloaks the blade of the weapon, and little metallic droplets have found their way onto my pale face. Mutt-Skye begins to flail her arms around, trying to get me off of her, but I'm not going to allow this monster even a millisecond to gain the upper-hand. I raise the dagger above my head once again and stab her, then repeat. Over, and over, and over again until the black blood bubbles like peroxide all over the abomination's entire body. Mutt Skye makes a guttural groan before choking on her own blood. The creature, in death, assumes its true form as an eyeless, noseless monster, and decays before my eyes.

There is nothing but a pile of dust, bones, and a messy black blood spatter in the area.

I bend down to pick up the two daggers and secure them to my weaponry belt and knife holsters.

I glance over at Boston, and notice him fighting with Aleah.

_Aleah!_

Boston and I aren't friends. We never really speak to each other. But Aleah is the biggest threat to all of us, and I can't just let her kill him. I pick my trident up from the ground and prepare to run to my reluctant ally's aid, but am stopped by a familiar voice.

"Elia love, leaving without even saying 'hello'?"

I'm paralyzed by shock. My trident slips from my grasp and falls to the ground with a quick _thud. _The next thing I hear is a set of heavy footsteps moving across the barren landscape in my direction. His arms slip around my waist and I feel his breath on my neck. All I can do is stand there, frozen as strands of his messy black hair brush against the side of my face.

_It's not real, it's not real. He's just a mutt, _I tell myself.

But this isn't as simple as the Skye mutt. It doesn't feel like a mutt. _He _doesn't feel like a mutt. His hands feel just like they should, his voice sounds like it always does, and the smell of his cologne and sea salt that follows him is lingering in the air. Slowly, I lift one of my arms up and run my palm across the side of his face. He can't be real. He can't be here. But he is. In spite of myself, I smile as my hand smoothly grazes over his whiskers.

"Look at me Ellie," he says as he tangles his hand in my fiery curls.

I slowly turn my head so I'm facing him. My lips part to allow a small gasp when I finally look at him. The blue eyes are unmistakable. I am staring at my husband, at Alex. A part of me knows that this is just another Gamemaker trap...but he's so _real_. He can't be a mutt. There's no way that even the Gamemakers could imitate him to this masterful degree.

"Alex…" I breathe.

He smiles at me and slips his arms from around my waist. "In the flesh."

My eyes widen in disbelief as I remember where we are. "What are you…why are you here? You won the Games three years ago."

He chuckles, pushes his raven black hair from his face and shrugs in response. A short, somewhat awkward silence follows as I just stand there and gawk at him. My eyes search him as I mentally critique every detail of his body. I want it to be him. I want it to be him so badly! I want this to be some miracle, that they've called off the Games and that he is here to hold me and make sure everything will be okay. It feels real, it feels so real.

He stands there, smiling at me as fiddles with something at his side. I look down and see the sheathed sword by his side for the first time.

_Alex's weapon of choice, _I think, as I finish my examination.

As my eyes scan over his left hand, I notice that he isn't wearing his wedding ring. My face darkens as I ask him about it. "Why aren't you wearing your ring?"

"About that…" Alex trails off, reaching for the sword at his side.

I don't understand what is happening until the tip of the silver sword is mere centimeters from my face. He holds it there, glaring at me. I feel sick to my stomach. Sure, he's held a sword against me before—in _training. _This is completely different. The look in his bright blue eyes has darkened, and is sinister, almost malicious. I bite my lip and stare at him in utter shock as he searches my face for any signs of fear.

Alex blinks his blue eyes at me, smirks, and in a voice as smooth and unalarming as dolphins says, "I'm going to enjoy slicing you into little pieces, love. I've always wondered what that would feel like."

I blink back the tears before they can fall, but am otherwise frozen in fear and confusion. "Alex, why are you—"

"Shut up!" He shouts. "You stupid bitch, just shut up!"

"What the hell!" I shout back. I open my mouth to say something else, but stop when he moves the sword back into its sheath. He throws it to the ground with a wicked smirk, but is otherwise even-tempered.

"You know what? I'm not going to dismember you until after I kill you. I'd rather kill you in a more…personal way. Snapping your neck, perhaps."

_Move! Move, you stupid girl, move! _I tell myself. _Run, scream, do something!_

Yet I don't. I can't. The idea of my husband—or some monstrous facsimile of him—saying these things to me is still so unreal. It isn't until I feel his fist collide with my face that I am jolted into reality. He hit me. Alex freaking hit me. And he does it again; this time, I stumble and fall backwards. He then trips me and begins to punch me repeatedly while I'm down.

"'Til death do us part, sweetheart," he says smoothly, wearing a menacing grin.

I finally begin to scream, to kick, to fight back, but it is to no effect. Alex is stronger than I am, much stronger. It isn't until he grabs my neck with his hands and begins to choke me that I fully understand the situation. This isn't Alex. Alex is my husband. He wouldn't punch me, he wouldn't strangle me. Suddenly, it makes sense. This is a mutt. Like Skye. Mutt-Skye. Mutt-Alex. Alex is a mutt!

With this new revelation, I am able to reason with myself to hurt him back. I knee him in the gut which stalls him long enough for me to reach for one of my knives. I stab him in the side, then pull the knife out just to make sure that it is tainted with black blood instead of red. Much to my relief, the layer of warm liquid is indeed black.

"Black blood," I say, "Just what I was hoping for. Mutt!"

I stab it again, then pull the knife out and stab it twice more. I'm able to shove him off of me long enough to move away from him and stand up. Mutt-Alex is still on the ground, but he is far better condition that Mutt-Skye was at this point. I know that if I allow him the orrortunity to get up from the ground, I'm either badly injured, or dead. So I pull the dagger from the holster on my leg and throw it at his face. It goes all the way through his left cheek, then his right. Mutt-Alex lets out a bloodcurdling, animalistic cry of pain as I yank the dagger out, pulling large chunks of his flesh with it, revealing parts of the jawbone. Blood flies through the air like tar rain.

In a final act of self-preservation, I throw myself to the ground to pick up the sword he'd casted aside, and unsheathe it. I stare into his eyes, which have turned black and hollow. This atrocious facsimile is now void of any resemblance to my loving husband. I feel nothing as I drive the sword through the monster's chest, killing it.

I wipe the sweat from my brow and toss the sword aside. Just as I'm bending down to pick up my trident, I hear a shrill, merciless cry.

"One AnD A HaLF KillS?" it laughs, "TrY A mIlLiON!"

I grab the trident and hold it firmly in my left hand. "Where did that—"

"GO ON THEN! RUN! RUUUUN!" It shouts.

I turn my head to see Boston shouting at Roy and Claus. _Boston..._

I always knew he was a wackadoodle, but I never imagined this. Roy and Claus flee from the District 10 tribute. Surely, this is bad. I pull the knife and dagger from Mutt-Alex body and secure them to my body in a hurry. I prepare myself for a third battle, though I'm certain that if Boston were to turn his psychotic attention to me, I wouldn't have enough strength or energy to fight him.

I watch as he steps on the body of Tara Tremain of District 12 and catches a mutt in the back of the head with his hammer. He finds Oak Loaker of District 8 hidden behind one of the slabs. Wild-eyed, Boston steps over him and throws his hammer to one side. Oak stabs Boston is the gut with a spear. Secretly, I'm hoping Oak kills him, but I know it will end up the other way around. Though the spear is deep inside of Boston's stomach, he doesn't flinch. He simply breaks it off and grabs Oak by the neck.

Oak tries so hard to fight back. I want so desperately help him, but I can't risk it. Boston would only kill me as well, and it's not just _me _that I need to win for. So I can do nothing but watch in horror as he strangles the small boy to death, then bashes his head against a slab for good measure.

_Boom!_

_Boom!_

The cannons for Oak and Tara go off.

Boston kicks Tara body to the side, then shout up at the sky, "ALEAH ALEAH! aLEE-HA! WHERE YA GONE, BABY! COME ON! COME PLAY WITH THE WOLVES! YOU WANT ME TO BITE, RIGHT?"

A shiver runs up my spine as he laughs the most vicious, sinister laugh I've ever heard. He leaves me no choice. I have to do something. He'll probably kill me next, but the least I can do is weaken him. I pull a knife from my weaponry belt and chuck it at his back, hitting my target.

"She's gone, Boston," I growl, drawing another knife. "She's not here, you freak!"

"No," he mutters. "NO! YOU LIE, ALEAH ARMANI! YOU LIE!"

"Aleah Armani? What the f—"

"PREPARE YOURSELF!" he roars, stampeding towards me. "PREPARE TO DIE!"

He is unarmed. But that doesn't mean he's not dangerous. I watched him strangle Oak Loaker to death, and if I allow him even a second of a headstart, he can and will do the same to me. So I do what any sensible person would in this situation. I pull my trident back and send it flying through the air full force. I watch as the three-pronged weapon embeds itself into its target. With a _thud! _Boston falls to the ground. I run towards his body, just in case he's still alive and I have to finish the job.

I actually feel bad for him as I kneel down next to him. Sure, he tried to kill me, but he was obviously mentally ill. I take no offense to his final words.

"A…Aleah…Elia…you…bitch."

_Boom!_

I yank my trident from the corpse's chest and grimace at the sight of scarlet red blood coating the weapon rather than the black blood I've grown accustomed to seeing. In an act of respect for the dead, I unzip and remove his jacket and cover his face with it. An old District 4 wives' tale states that the longer a person's eyes are exposed after dead, the more likely it is that their spirit will forever roam the Earth. The idea of a ghosty Boston isn't very welcoming, and though I know the wives' tale is a total myth…well, would _anybody _want to take their chance with Boston's spirit?

I heave a heavy sigh and collapse on the ground beside my trident. As the hovercrafts come to pick of the bodies of the three fallen tribtes, I stare up at the fake stars in the fake sky with no real purpose.

_My name is Elia Lydia Zervakos. My maiden name was Pandy. I'm 18 years old, I'm pregnant. I am a tribute in the twenty-fourth Hunger Games. I killed Rena Sage and Boston Williams. I am a murderer, albeit reluctantly. I am married to my mentor, a past victor. He promised to get us out of the arena._

"He promised," I whispered to my not-yet-portruding abdomen.

I pay no attention to the display of tributes' faces in the sky, and instead, head off for the Career pack camp. Though now an alliance of four, we're still an alliance as far I know. I'm safe with them, at least until sunrise. And who knows. I may split by then.

_Thus concludes day four of the twenty-fourth annual Hunger Games, _I think cynically.


	48. An Unlikely Alliance

Burr! It's cold here! Speaking of cold, getting a few icy reviews. This will be the last note you hear about them. Do not feed the trolls. Trolls need sustenance and attention to survive. There's this little button called report. Do that, keep reporting it and ignore the trolls.

For those of you who don't know a troll is someone who stirs up controversary by posting irrelevant things, lies, off topic stuff, etc. They stick around when people react to them. Imagine them as a fungus trying to grow on something. What do we do with nasty shower grime? We powerwash it down! So hit the report button and ignore, because we are.

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><p><em>Quarter Quell <em>

_May 2012_

_"We'll make the Rebels remember what it feels like to fight us..."_

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><p><em>Nella Birchalyn of <em>_District 7_

_by Penmysword_

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><p><em>"If you die you're completely happy and your soul somewhere lives on. I'm not afraid of dying. Total peace after death, becoming someone else is the best hope I've got." <em>  
><em>Kurt Cobain<em>

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><p>I ask myself while voyaging through the mounts of foliage and leaves something that has never crossed my mind, not until now when the reality of everything comes to its peak, the time where you really are unsure if there is a fatal line of life and death. Can you find happiness in death? The question remains unanswered in my mind.<p>

Although I'm in an arena, plenty just waiting to have my body as their kill, traveling back from the cornucopia, I couldn't help but be pulled in by the lush beauty of the forest in the arena. It was plentiful with shrubs, generous with tall and lavish tree's as well as filled with an essence that drew me in. It was the essence of home.

In a way, I think the Game makers purposely love to decorate the arena with tree's and beautiful and lush forests. It's as if they get a kick out of the children aching for home, and they taunt them with the memories and stimulations. Though, aware of what could lurk among the grand tree's, upon entering the forest I knew that I wouldn't live for much longer, and if I can at least feel at home, one more time than I would be alright, I'd be able to find the courage to help Aspen get back home.

It's been the 5th day in the arena, and I never had to deal with any run-ins on other tributes. I've seen some surpass me from underneath a tree I camped in, but none that I had to defend myself. If I really needed to, I could. I was equipped with both an axe and a small knife. Luckily, the items for the bloodbath were scattered, and the ones I needed were very close to me. Even though the supplies I needed were close to me, the one person who I think I love wasn't. I haven't seen Aspen for days, it's resulted in an aching or a longing—I can't really explain it, all I know is that it hurts. It feels like a large cut, getting deeper each day. The longer I am away from him, the deeper the sharp knife of longing delves deeper into my skin. I just pray that he doesn't die, because then that cut will become multiple stabs, and the knife of longing, will kill me as well.

It may seem like I only got to know the real Aspen through the games, but I feel like I knew him before. Ashe is a spitting image of him, and through Ashe, I see Aspen. I don't know if I've really loved anyone other than my family, but sometimes I question if they all love me? To find someone in the world that I didn't have to doubt they loved me, was truly an unexpected turn in events. Though, it didn't last for long.

It has me question the rules of survival and the path to love. If a person can't stand tall and healthy without water, is it the same for someone who lives without love? I don't know, I might never know.

As I sit up in my tree, high above the arena floor, I hear hushed voices, and the pitter-patter of moving feet. Curiously, I look down from my tree, being careful as to not reveal myself when my heart skips a beat. It's Aspen. Following him is Aella, the girl from District 5, andmy heart falls a bit and I bite my tongue before yelling out to Aspen. I take in a deep breath, and shut my eyes going back to that night on the balcony, which seems for ever ago. Though only a few days ago, emotions have changed, but I never wanted them to.

Needing to catch one last glimpse, I look out of my tree only to see the back of Aspen's head disappear into a large and lush bush, followed by the wisps of Aella's long, blonde, beautiful hair trailing behind him. Out of slight jelousy, my heart begins to ache, and a single tear falls down my face. I miss him.

That's when I notice a small smooth knife, dangling from a nearby tree. Moving my gaze upwards, I see a tribute, and unexpectedly fumble as I pull my head back into the camoflauge of the tree. It's the tribute I never wanted to come into contact in this arena. Aleah. I slightly peak my head out of the tree, curious at what she is up to. Her gaze is intent on the direction that Aspen and Aella headed towards, and I can't help but furrow my eyebrows together, wondering what she wants from them.

As I think about it, maybe she's trying to get in with them, do something with them? I can't tell, but I do know that this is a game, and in games you need to take chances. That's when an idea pops into my head. Probably one of the stupidest plans I've ever had, and surely a huge gamble, but I need to help Aspen get home. If I can eliminate the competition, or at least keep an eye on Aleah doing it, then I can guarantee that Aspen will get home. I also know that I don't want to be alone anymore, and if I want to help Aspen get home, then I need to kill as many others as I can, and I can't do that alone. So, I take a big leap of faith, and possibly one of the most gambling moves, by jumping out of my tree and approaching Aleah.

"And I thought I was the only one spying on the anti-careers!" I say loud enough for Aleah to hear. She jolts around so fast she almost falls out of her tree.

She snickers and tightens her grip around her knife while displaying her many other throwing knives on a belt which hugs her waist. She has a sly smile on her face, which tells me she wants me dead in less than a minute.

"So, what do you want?" Aleah asks me.

I stand on the ground in utter silence, terrified of her, and unsure of what to say.

"Uh…I..uhm.." I stutter out. Mentally punishing myself for sounding like such an idiot.

"If you are capable of forming any kind of coherent sentence I suggest you give me three very good reasons why I shouldn't kill you right here and now," Aleah says not skipping a beat. She's annoyed, which is a very imminent feeling present on her face as she gives me a long hard scowl.

I've learnt something about Aleah between the days of been so lucky to be in her presence. You can't back down to her, otherwise within a second you present any weakness she will snap on you.

I'm not usually a witty person so I don't even attempt to take that route in matching hers, considering I'd most likely fail epically. Instead, I try to recall all I remember about her, and try to seem, well, smart in this confrontation, to offer my services which I know she needs as much as I need her.

"Why should you kill me now?" I begin, as her eyes narrow. "I mean, are you going to carve your little initials into my back? What's it worth, no one will see, and no one will care." Finishing off this line hurt me inside a bit, although it had to be said, it still put me at unease. I mean, it was true. No one would care if I would die. My family could get over it eventually, but these tributes around me want me dead as possible, and with that note Aspen wrote me, I know he probably wants me dead too. That's when Aleah's laughter drowns out my train of thought.

"Well why shouldn't I? I wouldn't mind doing it for personal satisfaction!" She intimidatingly says back. "I could roast you over a fire!" She says cheerfully out of pure wit. "I mean, I haven't eaten in days!" Aleah rolls her eyes before giving me an icy glare. She then grips her knife tighter while about to jump out of the tree.

"You need me!" I yell at her before she can make her way out of the tree.

She stifles a small laugh of disbelief. "Sure, in your pea-sized brain of yours, that's what you think."

My mood of anger deepens slightly, offended of her remark, yet also winded of her impossible ways, and mindless stupidity.

"So Aleah, you make fun of me to everyone about my journal, yet you don't think for one second, writing might make me some-what smarter?" Within a split second, she slightly looks dumb-founded, but it's so quick that I'm not even positive if it was a dumbfounded look, because it is changed back to menacing and intimidating very quickly. Aleah is silent although her posture and antagonizing facial expressions say all that she needs to in this game: 'I'm going to kill you'

"You don't know me Aleah." I begin, and for once she seems slightly interested in what I have to say. Either that or she just doesn't know what to say. "I'm smart, very smart. I can come up with any answer to an equation faster then you can make up one of your stupid remarks," She cocks an eyebrow and crosses her arms. "I can recognize any plant in this arena, ones that I could use to feed you, or ones that I could use to kill you. I can sense the uneasiness of any tribute, and I can figure out a plan or motive of anyone just by talking to them for a few minutes." I finish.

Yet after all of that, Aleah still doesn't seem impressed. That's when Aleah begins to speak.

"Oh and you think you know me any better?" Aleah yells back at me. I nod my head, sure that I know more about her then she thinks.

"Listen here girl with the notebook," Aleah teases.

"Nella," I pipe in additively.

"You don't know me, and you will never know me. All you need to know is that I can kill you whenever I want to, because you are at my grasp, not the other way around." I'll admit, at this point I do feel slightly scared for my life, when Ashe's picture comes to my mind. That's when I tighten my fists, and tell myself, I have to get Aspen back home to her.

"Besides, what do any of your skills matter if you can't fight?" Aleah now pleased at her remark, looking at me annoyed waiting for me to attempt to escape.

"Who said I can't fight?" I yell back at Aleah. Maybe I wasn't the best at fighting, but it's not like I was terrible at it. I had a brother, I could do my fair share of wrestling. Though if someone was to attack me, they'd most likely win, but I could still put up a fight, especially if I had help.

Within a quick second, in an attempt to prove Aleah wrong, I take my axe, swing once fully around before quickly letting the axe handle escape my grip and go flying into the tree Aleah was sitting in. It hit the tree hard, and dug as deep as it could go into the trunk. It wasn't a thick tree, so naturally the tree begins to slightly sway and shake, about to tip over when Aleah's eyes grow wide in shock and she jumps out of the tree before it comes crashing to the ground.

I heard the familiar loud sound of the tree hitting the ground and I realize that it could easily trigger the presence of an unwanted tribute and without another thought, and forgetting my ideal offer to Aleah, I run in the direction of the fallen tree, pick up my axe and run through the bushes as I can hear Aleah shake herself off the ground and rapid footsteps behind me, as she comes chasing after me. She definitely wants me dead now. Before I can pick up the pace, the wind is knocked out of me, as Aleah's firm foot smashes into my back, and I roll over to see her with her knife at the ready. Her knife quickly leaves her hand as it comes flying towards my face, only as I quickly jolt to the side avoiding it. Before she can get her knife back I had roll myself over and attempt to stand back up, both Aleah and I now filled with a burning fury and a fire kindling rage.

I try to gather words together that might prevent her from killing me, but I can't. So, as a quick attempt, I blurt out the only thing that had popped into my mind.

"I saw you kill Onyx!" I scream, panting and waiting for her to drive her knife into me.

She has me pinned to the ground again, in the same position she had Onyx in when Aleah carved her initials into Onyx's back. When I reflect on how stupid I probably sounded as I told her how I saw her kill Onyx, I realize based on the position I'm in, that was probably why Onyx's death came to mind and I realize that I'm going to die.

I expected it to happen, but I had my heart set on a more honourable death, or a happier one. One without Aleah's bloodthirsty name etched onto my body permanently. I try to wriggle loose but it's no use, Aleah has me at a firm grasp so I shut my eyes tight, curl my fists, and wait for the agony to come.

As I feel the tip of Aleah's knife, cold-tipped and sharp, slowly and softly trace around my back. At first it felt like a bare tickle, but slowly turns into a slight pain as each minute she cuts a bit deeper into the surface. Though it isn't pure agony, I can tell by Aleah's malicious personality, she only wants to make me suffer and watch me die slowly and painfully, and although my face is pressed up into the rough ground, I bet there's a satisfied grin on Aleah's face as she begins to make one more kill.

When Aleah pushes a slight bit harder a searing pain surges through my body. I flinch at the pain, when Aleah's grasp becomes firmer on me.

"Oh, am I hurting you?" Aleah mocks. "I'm sorry, I'll try to be gentler when I _kill_you!" She tells me, straining the only word she finds pleasure in: Kill.

As calmly as I can, I try to ignore Aleah and die with happy thoughts, maybe that way I can die happy. I think I at least deserve that. I think of all those times working at the family shop, laughing with my brother and father. The thoughts of my mom and manipulative sister reach my mind, and although I didn't have such a great bond with them, I still love them and the memories of Cedar and I tormenting my sister Marina makes me smile. The forest back home always gave me hope, it always made me feel needed and at home. Ashe's sweetness and purity occupies my thoughts as her face moves from a memory to a ghost.

Her face appears in my head, along with everyone else who I loved. Ashe has appeared, then my brother, followed by my father and mother along with my sister. Then lastly, comes Aspen's face. In the darkness of my thoughts, their smiles shine through and it reminds me why I was here, even trying to make an alliance with Aleah. It was Aspen and Ashe. To bring Aspen back home to his family, to be able to wipe out everyone else.

That's when a sense of urgency hits me and quickly with all my force I catch Aleah off guard, kick her foot off of my back, and slammed her to the ground as I lured over her with my axe, as her grip on her knife tightened, and her devilish smile wryly mutated to an angry frown.

Aleah was about to pounce back on me, and I knew if she got that chance, I would die, she would kill me quickly without any hesitation, so I make it quick and to the point.

"So, were you up to an alliance or not?" I ask her, my hands steady with my axe, ready to strike Aleah like a tree. She jumps back up, quicker than I can even process.

She ponders my offer again for a few minutes, and by her heavy-weighted expressions, I can tell that it's something very important to her that she's debating.

"Nella, right?" Aleah raises an eyebrow. I nod in response. "District 7, right?" She asks again, I nod in agreement again.

"Yes, I'm from District 7." I decide to confirm, debating on whether or not only nodding will show any form of intimidation from her.

"Oh I remember you!" Aleah begins, in a snarky sarcastic tone. "District partners with, who was it again?" She crosses her arms, as she begins to circle around me thinking of a name.

"Aiden, Alpha, Akan?" She ponders the names, though I can tell by the return of her malicious grin that she's up to something.

"Oh!" Aleah snickers. "I remember his name!" She exclaims, "Aspen Checkov!" At the reciting of his name I literally wanted to snap Aleah's neck, though I've never had that urge for anyone, I know I have a full on hatred for Aleah. I knew that she knew Aspen's secret, though I never thought she'd use it like this, not in front of me. My left hand gathers into a wretched fist as my other hand tightens around my axe.

"Araucaria," I desperately, say fast, trying to catch her mistake. "That's his brother's name," Aleah cocks an eyebrow at my attempt of a cover. "I Know, I get their names mixed up too." I say, praying she won't go any farther into this topic.

"Fine." Aleah bluntly says.

I wait on for more to come out of her, and after a vigilant and analyzing stare, she continued.

"We'll ally, but there are some rules I must establish. We are not and never will be friends and this alliance is purely strategically, nothing more off of that basis. Meaning, I don't care about you and your life, got it?" Aleah says confronting me sternly.

I nod, and stretch out my hand as, I reassuringly ask Aleah, "Allies?"

Aleah firmly grasps my hand in her hers and shakes it, trying to come across annoyed to me, as she sighs, "Allies."

From there on, it was quite an awkward relationship. Neither of us really said anything to each other, I mean, what were we supposed to say? We were two people who hate each other in an alliance; we must be causing the capitol people to do a double take. Aleah and I, not the best trustworthy alliance, but it'll benefit me, I'll be able to help Aspen.

"Do you want me to secure our backpacks up in the tree, I might have better balance up there, I'm used to it, you know being from District 7 and all."

Aleah's rude attitude snaps back at me. "I freaking told you, I do not want to be your friend! I don't want to know your life story!" Aleah shouts to me.

I resist my urge to talk, because it would probably just make her mad again. I step back and allow her to secure the backpacks, as I follow her up the tree and secure myself in ready to fall asleep.

Tension is still running high throughout me, and my blood boils in animosity for Aleah. Trying to calm myself, I do something that I haven't done in what feels like ages, and open up my notebook. I keep it tucked in the waistband of my pants, though it looks bulky it doesn't matter, as long as I have it with me.

Though I have my notebook with me, I wasn't allowed to bring a pen. Only one token per tribute, and I decided to bring my notebook instead of a pen, thinking that I could improvise in the arena—if I were to even make it that long. I climb down from the tree and strip a nearby bush for its black juicy berries. Nightlock. It's extremely poisonous and can kill you upon ingestion. At school in district 7 we're taught all about this, considering most people become lumberjacks as an adult and work in the forest.

I take a handful of the berries, put them in a pocket on my backpack, grab a twig on the ground and make my way back up in the tree to the branch that Aleah was on.

"Do you need me or something?" Aleah, snaps at me, when I arrive at her branch.

"Could I use your knife?" I ask her. All of a sudden she becomes guarded and protective over it.

"You have your own, what the hell do you need mine for?" Aleah concludes.

"Well, mine isn't as sharp and precise as yours, I need it to whittle something down." I tell her. Still, after an explanation she won't give in, so I end up using my knife, though it makes the job 10 times harder.

I whittle the end of the stick until its sharp and pointed at the end. I decide to stay on the same branch as Aleah, that maybe I could at least put our relationship at a slight ease if I kept her company.

I pull out the nightlock from my bag and open up my notebook. I take the whittled stick and press its tip into the raw surface of the juice breaking its surface, resulting in the running of the dark berry's juice, dripping off of the thin stick and onto the fine, thin parchment in my notebook. Slowly, I begin to make small strokes and small letters using the dark berry juice to replace the ink I would need for a pen. Beginning to write about the day, I realize that the writing isn't as clear and readable as it usually is—but maybe that's a good thing.

Silently, through my writing I begin to relieve my stress and forget about my sorrows and woes. Aleah sits in front of me, grazing her hands over the sharp edges of her knife, testing it on as many different surfaces as she can.

Then, as I'm writing something within my vision moves, and moving my eyes up away from my paper I can see Aleah's hand slowly begin to reach for the berries.

"Don't," I say in a wretched voice. Though, typical Aleah doesn't listen to me and takes the berries in her hands. "They're poisonous!" I plead louder through desperation.

Though cruel of me, I wish and long for the death of Aleah. How could someone be that sick? Except, I need her now. Allying with a big contender like her is the key to getting Aspen home safely. My heart aches as I rethink my plan: Keeping a watch on Aleah to make sure she kills the competition, so Aspen will have a better chance. I wish her dead, but I need her now.

Though I tell Aleah the effects of the berries, she doesn't listen. But instead of bringing them up to her mouth like I thought she would, she hops out of the tree and lays the berries down a nearby bush. Then she picks a stone up from the ground and throws it into the bush, only to result in a disturbed large furry squirrel run out of it. The squirrel then notices the berries, sniffs them and ingests them. Only until a few seconds later when the squirrel falls limp to the floor, its mouth stained with the dark black juice of the berry; dead.

"I told you they were poisonous," I say proving my point, though regretting after the fact by the intense glare Aleah gives me. "I'm from District 7, I know this stuff." I tell her, though the second I finish, Aleah comes back firm and sharp.

"Didn't I tell you?" She screams at me. "Get it through your brain. I do not want to know your life story!" She says stressing each and every individual word at different tones of dramatic effect. "When will you get it through your pea sized brain of yours?"

Aleah could always find a way to put my down, and this definitely did so. I know I'm not good at a lot of things, but I know I am smart and that my brain isn't pea-sized. I'm more knowledgeable then Aleah thinks, she just enjoys spitting out every insult she can think of to make her sound smarter. Aleah is not smart like she thinks she is. She's just pure wit. Wittiness is not the same as being intellectual. I picture being intellectual as knowing right from wrong, in facts and in answers. Aleah purely does not have the intellectual ability that she thinks. Wit is just a filler in which you try to fill all the wholes where your intellectual ability leaks out, where the ability to know right from wrong doesn't exist.

Aleah climbs back up the tree with the dead squirrel in her one hand, and her knife secured by her teeth as she uses her free arm to climb back up the tree.

"Dinner," Aleah rings out.

She seems satisfied at what she has done, by I am not.

"Aleah, we can't eat that!" I tell her firmly.

Aleah looks up at me, her animosity for me wide-spread across her face and her usual fierce glare watching my every move.

"Guess what, I'm hungry! Would you prefer me to eat you?" Aleah snarly directs to me. Although Aleah is an atrocious human being, even I think she's too…civil to eat someone, but the way she grasps her knife tight, makes me think otherwise.

"No Aleah I'm serious, you'd be dead in a second." Aleah is quiet with nothing to say. I can tell her 'I know everything' stature has begun to fade in my presence. I always knew she wasn't a genius but I never wanted to degrade her for it, too scared of the consequences, but now I think maybe she'll be able to recognize that I'm smarter then she thinks because she does need me, she would've died if she ate that squirrel.

"Nightlock is a very poisonous berry, when at consumption can cause immanent death. The juice of the berry seeps into every part of the consumer, meaning that the poison in the berry most likely by now has seeped into the bloodstream of the squirrel. If it were eaten, you'd have something called second-hand consumption, meaning that depending on the size of the animal, you could get very sick or die. If you were to be eating a bear that had just eaten nightlock, the result may not be as bad. But a squirrel," I pause, pointing at the dead salvaged animal Aleah has in her hand hanging by its tail. "Can kill you," I finish off.

Aleah looks slightly stunned for a quick second, but shuns away any looks of vulnerability and quickly masks it over with an unsatisfied glare.

"Thanks, now we have no dinner!" Aleah gives me a sarcastic smile and goes back to edging her knife along the surface of her skin.

My eyebrows rise as they become buried under my brown matted hair, astonished at how she so easily turned the situation into my fault. I just saved her life. It's not like I was expecting a thank you from Aleah, but I'm not appreciative of the fact that she turns the words around to make me at fault. Aleah descends down the tree, and fumbles slightly at the bottom, before leaving through the foliage of the woods, in which I can no longer see her. I try to brush off my major dislike for Aleah by continuing to write in my journal again, until I am disrupted by the delusional nagging of Aleah directing me to collect firewood.

I lazily push my axe out of the tree to fall to the ground only before I jump out of the tree, and hit the ground. I pick up my axe and search for fallen sticks on the ground, but alas there is none, so I decide to cut down a small tree hoping it won't gain much attention from other tributes. Though my actions are faulty and occasionally stupid, I'm only taking this risk because I have Aleah by my side, and I hope she will have my back, rather than be the one to spear it.

Precisely, I cut down the small tree in the proper manner I was taught back in District 7, when I hear a rustle coming from the branches behind me. Franticly and frazzled, I raise my axe up, and ready to strike at whoever comes through the bush. Then, Aleah pops out through the bushes with stray mint leaves and three squirrels in her hand, and I let my guard down. She watches me as I continue to cut down the tree.

"Why don't you just get a move on and chop it down the middle?" Aleah asks impatiently.

"Because," I say bluntly, concentrating on cutting the tree properly. "You have to take it piece by piece, in order to get what you want. Similar to when you want to find something out about a person, you have to take it piece by piece to know what you want." I tell her this as if I was talking to a friend, though Aleah is not my friend.

"Just quit with the nonsense and let's go eat."

We eat a plain dinner with roasted squirrel and dried mint leaves, with fresh water to wash it down. I don't know how Aleah found water, but it was a miracle.

Aleah eats two squirrels and leaves one for me, but I don't eat it. Knowing Aleah, the one she left for me is the poisoned one, and she's just secretly awaiting my death. I chew on the mint leaves and then head back up in the tree and lay down my head to rest after Aleah said she'd make the first watch. Trying to fall asleep seems like a chore as I can't find the peace as I continue to hear the scuffle of footprints across the ground. Out of curiosity, I gently move away the leaves to see what Aleah is doing. I can see her hands grasped firmly around her knife as she uses the tip of her knife to draw a large diagram in the mud. I can't tell what the diagram is of, but I know it's something huge. Lazily, I let my head fall back, and try to fall asleep. What a day it has been.

It's been a tiring day yet the last picture in my mind before I drift off to sleep is the face of Aspen, smiling, radiant, bright and pure, and not to mention happy.


	49. The Other Guy

We're a little behind on reviews, favourites, and alerts. We've been sick-apparently we all like to share cold and stomach bug over the internet. Very special indeed! But anyways, please bear with us and we apologize for being so behind on them. We will be making a big push to catch up over the weekend! I hope you enjoy what's in store! Thanks for all the reviews!

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><p><em>Quarter Quell Try-Outs<em>

_May 1, 2012_

_Link will be in next update!_

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><p><strong>Claus Hendall, District 5<strong>

**By PumpkinGrin**

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><p><em>"Man is truly not one, but two."<em>

—Robert Louis Stevenson

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><p>I'm running out. Running out of what, one would ask? Depends; time? Maybe, if you counted the time till my death. Perseverance? Most probably, as I feel the very will leaving my bones. Supplies? You can say that.<p>

I'm doing okay, sort of, on water, seeing as how my canteen is half-full. Food less so, unless you count the slab of jerky and the small apple I have stowed away safely in my pack. I worry for the apple since it can spoil quickly and easily, but for now it's alright. What I'm truly worried about is my lack of a weapon and medical supplies.

My only offensive weapon is a flimsy club made out of some material that was not suited for attacking. I'm not even sure it's an actual weapon; it may be some sort of tent pole. Whatever it is, it won't protect me for long if the occasion arises.

And on the subject of medical supplies, I think I may just be paranoid. My jaw still stings from when that District 7 boy struck me across the face in the burning Bloodbath maze. I've gotten comfortable to the idea of painkillers being so readily available at home, so my yearning for them out here in the arena is kicking in. And that's not to mention the pains in my head and my stomach, which have been hindering me as I trek aimlessly around this arena. My weary body screams for medicinal aid, when it knows that it most likely won't get any.

There's also the issue of this strange...blankness in my head. I'm trying to remember something, but for the utter life of me I can't. I feel as if I've done something drastic - which is obvious when I notice all the bloodstains all over me. They're not mine...so whose blood is it? What happened to me? Why can't I remember? I feel strange as I walk across this field; it feels as if I've ran over it not too long ago. Why does it feel like that? I don't remember that. I don't recall anything from the last couple of days or so...maybe more.

I mentally tell myself to quit complaining and to keep walking. I understand why I've been complaining, since the awfully long walk to the Cornucopia, mixed with my mental distress, is not an enjoyable journey. I've been traversing this plain of grass for what seems to be a couple of hours, with the sun beating down on my neck like flashes of fire whipping down upon my skin. It's different from when I used to run back in District 5; when I ran, I was too preoccupied to notice the heat. Now, I'm walking, and the only thing I can focus on –besides finding the Cornucopia- is how unbearably hot it is right now. But I'm not much of a vocal complainer, not even when I'm alone, so I trudge on.

I look up at the sky wearily and instantly regret it; I let out a vocal grunt of discomfort as the bright rays of sun attack my eyes. Blinking rapidly, I shake my head in an attempt to get away from the heat, not caring that it wasn't working.

_Smart idea, Claus,_ the mental voice within me remarks snidely. _Staring up at the sun like that. Let's hope the Gamemakers haven't increased the radiation it emits; otherwise, you'll be dying a slow, painful, cancer-ridden death._

"When did you become so morbid?" I murmur through chapped lips. My breathing is hazy and thirsty.

_I dunno. Maybe ever since you stepped out here in this arena and narrowly evaded death when that guy burnt down the maze. Maybe before that. Maybe after._

"Huh. You've been awfully quiet since then."

_I don't complain as much as you do._

"Thanks for making me even more aware of my habit."

_You should stop complaining, really. It's annoying._

"You should stop talking to me." I retort tiredly.

_Can't stop talking to a subconscious, Claus. It's impossible; I should know. After all, you keep responding to me._

I groan and shake my head at myself, and force myself to soldier on while trying to ignore the voice in my head. Why was the voice starting to talk to me like this? It was never as rude as this before. And yes, I am referring to the voice as a separate entity. I've dealt with it –him- ever since I was a child. To me, he's just a voice I talk to that helps to stave off my loneliness. Knowing my estranged upbringing, he came to be a strange acquaintance of mine that I find that I would not be the same without. I've grown used to him, but not this new side to him. He's more assertive than ever. Has the Games affected him –me- to be like this?

I successfully ignore the voice as I continue across the plain. I try to focus on reaching the remains of the maze. Funneling my focus into finding the maze somehow automatically makes me remember the flames that erupted from it when the District 1 male had set it on fire. Remembering how the flames barely licked at my skin fuels my legs to hurry up and walk faster, as if escaping the memory itself.

I snap out of my memories when I hear a strange shuffling against my shoes. It strikes me as strange, seeing as how I've been wading through quiet waves of grass up until now. I look down and see flecks of grey amidst the faded green. Amongst the blades of grass are whitened strips of burnt grass that are noticeably wrinkled and lifeless. Some even have frayed edges, as if they were eaten away by something. Something like fire.

My breath catches in my throat as I look up. In the near distance, I see large mounds of grey ash piled up, smothering the grass underneath. Smack dab in the middle of the ghostly graveyard of the maze is the golden Cornucopia, standing in all its untouched glory like a proud phoenix bursting from the ashes of death and chaos. My heart leaps at the sight of it, grateful for its potential to help me. There has to be _something_ left there, something for me to use. It is (hopefully) unlikely that anybody else has come by and already raided what's left in the Cornucopia, unless someone else has already been thinking along the same lines I have been. There's no way to find out until I get there.

I break out into a jog, steadily using up my stored energy that I've accumulated through walking the whole way. Keeping a brisk pace, the Cornucopia and the ashes start creeping closer to me until I can practically smell the lingering traces of the fire in the air around me. My shoes kick into the mounds of ash that increase in size as I start running. The Cornucopia is so close, I'll be able to touch it in a few minutes.

I'm strategically running through the paths of dead grass in between the walls of leftover cinder, trying to keep the residue out of my shoes and the pants of my trousers. I recall running through these same paths earlier, but instead of ashes I was surrounded with tall leafy hedges that were ablaze with fire. Comparing the two scenes is eerie to say the least; the memory is of a hellish nightmare that I barely escaped, and the current moment is the unnaturally-quiet counterpart that haunts my mind and distracts me from my goal.

"Stop it," I say quietly, my voice rustling amidst the slow breeze that wafts through the remains of the maze. I've said this to myself this time, not to the voice in my head. "Focus, Claus. Focus." I pat my face a couple of times, wincing as my hand claps against the bruise, and break out into a run.

I skid to a stop just several meters away from the golden, curved Cornucopia, waves of cinder flying away from my feet. Blinking in case the ash has reached my eyes, I cautiously approach the giant horn as if it is a beast of melted gold. What if I find nothing in there? What if another tribute is inside, currently shifting through all the supplies I could be taking? What if the Gamemakers have rigged it to explode or something, expecting tributes like me to come and scavenge for anything valuable?

Panic starts setting in, and my hands find the sides of my head. "Oh no, what if…oh, God…" I murmur to myself, feeling my dirt-matted hair brush in between my fingers. My throat suddenly feels dry, but not from thirst. I feel my heartbeat quicken as I go over all the possibilities that might await me if I step inside the Cornucopia.

This is when the voice in my head decides to make a comeback. _Claus, stop whining and get in there! You'll never know if you don't step inside!_

"But what if I end up being blown to bits, or-or I trip and impale myself on some spear someone left behind?" I worry aloud, feeling my chest rise and fall rapidly with my hysteria.

_Well, you won't know unless you GET IN THERE, now won't you?_

"I don't…I don't know. I don't know."

_Oh, quit the act. You're just overreacting—probably because you haven't had a full meal for once in your life. If you just go see what's in there, maybe you'll find something to shut you up._

"Ohhh…if I die, I'm blaming you."

_Hey…at least I'll be out of your life when you do._

"You're not helping!"

The voice snickers and vanishes, leaving my hyperventilating self alone. I feel slightly ashamed as I realize that since I've been with this voice for most of my life, I kind of hand-wave all of the things he's ever said to me. Especially all these sardonic remarks he's making now. I tell myself to deal with it later and instead focus on controlling my breathing. Just listen to what he said for once; just go in there. If I die, well, then I won't have to go out by someone else's hand. Unless, you count the Gamemaker's involvement as a murder. Which I do, now that I think about it.

"Claus, just get in there. C'mon! Just get it over with," I tell myself harshly. Swallowing and taking a deep breath, I blindly jog over to the opening of the Cornucopia.

And then, suddenly, I feel something smooth and hard slam against my shins. The ground then rushes up to meet my face, and we collide.

Once I get past the buzzing in my ears from the collision, I hear a voice above me. It sounds blurred and faded, like a faraway memory. But I don't recognize the voice at all and struggle to do so.

"...kay? Are…ay?" The voice blurs in and out of clarity.

I lift my head up slightly, fighting against the urge to bring it back down to the dirt and ash. "Whuh?" I reply; I realize that my blood is leaking from my nose and down over my lips.

"Are you okay? Are you alright?" the voice asks me again. It sounds interrogative, demanding an answer of sorts.

"Uhm…I-I think so." I draw my arms up and push myself up, but my elbows wobble and I find myself collapsing to the ground again.

"Huh. I didn't think I hit you _that_ hard," the voice –a female, I realize- says. I groan in response.

The voice is quiet for a moment. "Alright, up we go." Then I feel something loop under my elbow and attempt to tug me upwards, but I'm not entirely cooperating, so it's futile. A sudden rush of willpower courses into me –accompanied by the voice in my head muttering, _Come on, get up,_- and my other arms helps to push myself up.

_Oh, now this is sad. You can't even get up by yourself? Come on, now._

"Leave me alone," I blubber through a mouthful of coppery blood.

"Sorry?" The girl says.

_Claus, just…just let me take over, okay?_

"W-what d'you mean?" I mumble.

_Just let go. Let me take care of this._

"What—"

And then suddenly, I feel myself falling down again…except, I know I'm not. I'm sinking down and down into…something, but I don't know what.

Then something cold rushes up past me, taking my place. I stop falling and start floating, or at least it _feels_ like I'm floating. But I still feel myself hunched over on the ground, with the girl's arm looped under mine. The only thing is that my body doesn't feel like it's mine at the moment.

"Let me show you how this is done," I hear myself mutter, but it doesn't sound like my voice. I mean, I _know _it's my voice, but it doesn't sound like something I'm saying. It feels detached, but I can feel my lips moving and saying them.

It dawns on me before I can vocalize it, but my body moves without my consent. I feel my torso leaving the ground and twisting towards the girl tribute; my arms fly towards her and my legs contract and launch my body off of the dirt. The wind zips past me as my hands clench around something. The mere force behind my launch knocks whatever it is I've grabbed over, and it isn't until it yelps when I realize it's the girl's leg I have in my grasp.

"Agh, get _off!_" The girl screeches, kicking at me. I ignore it and crouch over her, my blunt club in my hands now. I raise it over her head, my fingers tightly wrapped around the weapon and preparing to bring it down onto her skull. I visualize the blood spilling from her head and bits of brain poking out amidst bone fragments. I can see her body convulsing as she breathes her last…

_Stop it! Stop it, no! Don't do this!_ This time, the voice in my head is actually _mine_ for once, and it feels strangely tranquil. It's the first time in a while that I've actually thought in my own voice. Then I remember that the voice that usually occupies my mind is now taking over as me, and he's not listening.

_Leave her alone!_

"Claus, how stupid _are_ you?" He asks, a twisted smirk creeping across his lips. The girl stares up at me/him with wide confused eyes, as if she wasn't expecting this from me/him. "This is a fight to the _death_. The only way to make it out alive is to kill anyone you can. Here's the perfect opportunity."

_No, I don't want to kill anyone! I'm NOT going to kill anyone!_

He scoffs. "Claus, this is for your own good. I'm surprised you haven't seen this sooner," he croons, tilting his head at the girl as if she were some object of interest. She struggles, attempting to strike at him yet missing, which is odd since he's right over her. He notices.

"Aw, are you trying to scare me off?" he swats away at one of her hands with the club and utters a short laugh. "I'm afraid it's not gonna work."

"Who _are_ you?" the girl demands, her wise brown eyes wide and demanding. "_You_ aren't him. What's happening to you?"

He grins, fighting back a laugh. "Aw, you don't remember? I'm kinda hurt. I'm Claus, too. I've always been with him. Just ask him yourself." He closes his eyes, and I find myself rising up into warmth.

I'm back in my body; there's no filter between me and it. I am me, and he is back in my head. Taking the opportunity, I practically leap away from the girl and throw the weapon away.

_Hey, HEY! What're you doing, Claus? I let you take over so you could tell her the truth. I didn't say you could come back!_

"I didn't say you could be here in the first place!" I cry out in response.

_Aw, don't hurt my feelings. I'm just here to help you out. You need to kill that girl. Since you won't do it yourself, I'll do it for you._

"_No!"_ I grasp the sides of my head and bow over, as if I'm about to vomit. I feel as if I am, but I'm too busy keeping my mental state in check. I feel him pressing against the boundaries of my head, begging to be let free. Through sheer mental willpower I hold him back, muttering "no" over and over. I'm rocking slightly back and forth until I feel like I'm going to fall off of a cliff if I lean in one direction too far.

_Let me do this!_

"No!"

_Claus, I'm warning you, __**let me do this.**_

"Go away, I don't need you!"

_Stop lying to yourself. You've ALWAYS needed me from the start. Who else was there for you as long as I was?_

"That's in the past, not now. I don't need you now! I _don't!"_

_Claus—_

"Go _away!"_

It's as if a gunshot has gone off in my mind. There's a deafening silence that rings endlessly in my ears and my head. My mouth opens and closes in a weak attempt to form words to express my shock, but I'm failing hopelessly. My hands are trembling at either side of my face, hovering over my ears like hummingbird wings. My breathing is shallow and rushed like I have just run ten miles without stopping. But besides the sounds of my exhaust, all is quiet. I can't even hear the girl behind me.

Turning around slowly, I cautiously look over to the District 3 girl, who is now sitting up and staring at me. Her entire form is still, as if the slightest of movements will provoke me. She appears to be studying my facial features for any complexities that'll give away my mental condition. As if that bizarre display of murderous intent wasn't enough. But it appears that she was listening to him, because she doesn't look at me with terror or anxiety. It's more like she's curious. Her name is on the tip of my tongue, as if I once knew it. Her face is familiar as well. But I don't recall a girl with short brown hair and matching eyes like her. Why is that...?

I suddenly feel weak and collapse to my knees. My shoulders sink, relieving a great emotional burden. With my head bent downward, I turn it a few degrees towards her direction and murmur, "I'm…I'm sorry."

The girl blinks and looks away in contemplation. Grimacing, she looks at her left leg and begins to pull it up. However, she flinches and hisses in pain as her hands fly to her ankle. Gritting her teeth and furrowing her brow, she proceeds to investigate the injury.

I gaze at her ankle with guilt. "I'm sorry," I repeat quietly. My body suddenly feels drained of energy as I watch her attempt to massage her ankle.

What she says is something I don't really expect. "So, what the hell was that? Dissociative personality disorder or something?"

I pause. "H-huh?"

"Dissociative personality disorder. Or split personality disorder or whatever. Is that what you have?" She asks, looking up at me.

I blink profusely. "Uh…I don't…know?" I reply, sounding awfully unsure.

She frowns. "It looks like it to me. Looks pretty serious, too," she notes aloud. "So that's what it is...anyway, are you alright?"

She was asking me if _I_ was alright? "Yeah. But…what about you?"

There's a momentary silence as the girl examines her leg some more. "Well…" she hums. "It looks like you've given me a sprained ankle. It's not too bad, I don't think. It'll hurt for a while, but not long."

Shame washes over me. "I'm sorry," I say for the umpteenth time, but I mean it like the other times I've said it.

The girl from District 3 raises a brow at me. "You say that quite a lot, don't you?"

I have no choice but to nod.

"Is that you or the other guy talking?"

I start to nod again, but I immediately stop myself. "M-me. It's me talking. I, uh, I don't know where the other me went. Somewhere far away, I hope." To my surprise, he doesn't respond to my comment. Maybe, hopefully, I'm right.

There's an awfully uncomfortable silence between us, but she snaps it in two. "You're from District 5, right? The name's Claus?" the girl queries, as if this is any ordinary conversation.

"Yeah. Claus Hendall," I confirm before my voice dies away. I want to ask her, but I feel my nerves dying away as well. For God's sake, we're out here in the Hunger Games, a fight to the death, and I can't ask her for her name. I'm pathetic.

But I try anyway. After all, if I almost killed her, I can ask for her name. "And…and you?" I venture warily, keeping my gaze away.

The girl looks up in surprise; not even she was expecting that out of me, and she seems to understand my mental problem. "Jules Surket, District 3," she answers amiably, as if it's the most ordinary question in the world. Well, it is, but considering the current circumstances…

"Hey, can you bring me that?" Jules points over to her right, away from me. "Over there, in the ash?"

"What?" I sit up and look around, failing to see anything of importance. I just see mounds of burnt hedge maze and faded, scorched dirt. I push myself up off of the ground and brush my hands off on my pants.

"That stick-thing you almost killed me with, over there." Jules repeats the gesture, nodding in the direction for extra measure. She seems to be patient and level-headed, which in turn reassures me. I'm extremely confident that she holds no hostility towards me, only the opposite. Then again, it could all be a ruse, but I push that unpleasant thought away. I walk over to the designated hill of ash and notice part of the club protruding from the peak. I tug it out and clean it on my shirt before going over to Jules and handing it to her.

"Thanks," she simply says, focusing on her ankle as I rest the club in her outstretched hand. She takes it from me and lifts her right foot up; after placing the club under her foot, she steps down and pulls up both sides of the weapon. It takes a few moments and some physical effort before the club snaps in two.

"There's a medical kit in the Cornucopia," Jules says, nudging her head over into the opening of the giant structure. "Could you go get it for me? I think there's some elastic tape in it."

I nod and start jogging into the Cornucopia. It's dark and smells metallic, but I pay no mind to it and venture inward. I rely on the light shining in from the entrance to illuminate the ground. It doesn't take me long to see a plastic first-aid kit tucked away into a dark corner deep in the cavern, and I immediately take it.

"Here, this is it, right?" I pull out a small roll of medical tape.

"That's the one. Thanks, Claus," she says with a hint of gratitude, accepting the tape.

I kneel beside her, watching silently as she tears away a long strip of the tape and sets it on her bent knee. Then she takes one end of the divided club and presses it against the side of her leg. Taking the tape, she winds it around the club and her leg. Stopping halfway, she takes the other end, places in on the opposite side, and wraps the rest of the tape around it before securing it in place.

"There we go, that oughta do it." Jules finishes, nodding at the impromptu splint with an air of triumph and finality. She claps her hands together to further conclude her task, clearing them away of any dust that isn't there. Her hands slow and finally become still as she looks at me. "Are you sure you're alright? Physically, too?" She gestures to her nose, referring to mine. I absently touch it and wince, my eyes squeezing shut at the unwelcome sensation.

"Whoa, looks like it's broken," Jules squints and peers at my nose; I recoil slightly out of embarrassment and look away under her investigative gaze.

As I'm looking away, Jules begins to rummage through the medical kit that's placed on the ground at my side. Peering at multiple bottles and containers, she grabs one and spends more time reading it than with the others.

"Ah, painkillers. There's nothing that can really help broken noses in here, so you're just going to have to use these," she murmurs, tossing me the bottle. I catch it out of reflex and scan over its basic functions.

"Er, are you sure you don't need these? At least, more than I do?" I inquire timidly, glancing at her uneasily. My gaze travels to her ankle in particular.

Jules purses her lips in thought, then takes the bottle back. She tears it open and dumps out half the pills into her hand, then hands me with bottle with the other half. I peer inside it and count six pills.

"Now it's even, and we both get what we need." Smirking slightly, she looks at me. "Seems like a fair compromise to me."

It takes me a second to respond. "Yeah, it does. Thank you, Jules."

Jules somewhat smiles. "Nah, don't mention it. Just helping out a fellow tribute."

A thought then crosses my mind after she says that. Swallowing and readjusting my posture, I ask, "Why're you helping me in the first place? Why didn't you kill me when you knocked me down?"

Jules takes the time to place her share of the pills into her pocket. "I didn't know it was you that I had hit until I had, well, hit you. I just thought you were some other tribute."

"That I understand. But why not finish me off?"

She stops, only managing to get out a word. Her eyes seem to go distant and focus on some little pebble off to my right. "I guess…it's kinda hard to explain. It's like I don't want to kill you." Then her tone takes a turn for the light-hearted. "You should be thankful that I'm not killing you right now, now that I think of it."

Widening my eyes, I stammer out, "I-I am, re-really. Thank you, Jules. For not killing me," I add as an awkward afterthought.

Jules stares at me, analyzing my facial features and my words. "You know, it's kinda something that you've survived this long."

Noticing my awkward expression, she then adds, "But it's a good thing, though. That's cool. It shows some hidden depths to you…and the other guy in your head."

I grimace at the mention of him. "Luckily, he's not here. He might've come back after you said that," I say in my way of trying to get along. I don't think it was a good example.

"Hm…you should thank him one day."

"…Why?"

"He could help you out later if you happen to run into one of the Careers. There's no telling how pissed off they'll be when they see you again."

I furrow my brow. The void in my head stings. "Again?"

Jules opens her mouth to say something, but then looks at me in a second evaluation. She decides against whatever she was about to say. "Just...make sure you keep on your toes, alright? Him, too."

I sense her encouragement to switch to the current subject, knowing that somehow my apparent memory loss must be uncomfortable for her to bring up. It still bothers me that she knows more than I do, but I don't want to aggravate her by pressing the matter. "You talk about him as if he's another person." I realize.

Jules looks at me knowingly. "You do, too."

I realize that she's right.

Taking note of my silence, she uses the rim of the Cornucopia to pull herself up to a shaky stand. "I can't stay here forever. It's starting to get dark, and I bet the audiences are getting tired of all this non-violence," Jules states, glancing around at any hidden cameras that might be posted on or in the Cornucopia. I start to do the same when she starts to limp away.

"You're leaving?" I foolishly ask her.

Jules looks back at me with a half-smile. "Can't stay here forever, Claus. I've gotta get moving. Besides, we apparently weren't the only two who thought of coming back to the Cornucopia. There's pretty much nothing in there."

My spirits sink even lower. "Oh," is my simple reply.

Noticing my dismay, she suggests, "You know, there's probably some supplies that the Gamemakers may have left alone after they collected the bodies. You'll find something."

I nod once. "Yeah, maybe."

Jules mimics my gesture before turning around and limping away. But then she stops yet again. "Hey, Claus?"

I look up on cue. "Yes?"

"Thanks for not killing me, too." There's a strange melancholy to her words. It sounds like she's talking to a memory. She sees something in me that reminds her of something.

I try to ignore it as best as I can, and my mouth falls open a bit before a small smile graces my lips. "You're welcome."

As she begins to continue on her way, she calls out, "And don't forget to tell that to the other guy too!"

My smile widens just a bit as I watch her leave. Pressing my lips together, I close the medical kit and tuck it into my pack. Noticing that Jules has taken the weapon that she attacked me with, it dawns on me that I'm now defenseless.

Then Jules' advice replays in my mind, and I let go of my initial fears. Taking a deep breath and releasing it, I decide to go in a different direction, keeping in mind the suggestion I was given. "Hey, are you still there?"

_Maybe. I'm not forgiving you for that little stunt, if that's what you're here for._

"Not that," I shake my head. "How do you feel about…working together from now on?" It feels like I've swallowed a vial of snake venom as I say those words, but Jules' advice serves as an antidote.

_...Together…? As in, you and me? Me and you?_

"Yeah, but…within set boundaries."

_Huh…_ I can tell the voice is interested in my offer. _You and me. Why? Is this a set-up?_

"No, nothing like that. I want to know if you want to work together. It'll help us, that's what Jules said."

_Hmph. I still think I should've killed her a while ago._

"She's not dangerous." I remind. "She had helpful advice. I think we should be taking it."

A thought runs across me. Jules' behavior prompts me to ask, "Why didn't she attack us? Me, I mean. She had the perfect opportunity."

_You mean while you were cowering like a wimp over there? I agree, why didn't she kill us?_

"I dunno…does she know me? She has something to do with why I can't remember anything. Would you know anything about that?"

For once, the voice is quiet. I can still feel him, though. He seems uneasy.

I narrow my eyes. "You know something. What is it?"

_...That's not important. I'm interested in your offer._

So, another person –entity, I should say- is keeping something from me. What happened? "So, you _do_ want to cooperate."

_Well,_ the voice hums. _It does sound rather enticing, that offer. I did like having a body. I understand why you want to keep me out all the time now._

"Do you want to try and survive this thing together or not?" I ask wearily, about ready to strangle myself. "And if you agree, you have to tell me what happened."

Another silence, contemplative in nature. He thinks. He wonders. I can hear every single thought.

Finally, his hollow voice that sounds so eerily like mine echoes in my head with satisfaction.

_I like the sound of that._

And then, I feel both of us smiling as we walk away from the strangely-familiar Cornucopia. Step after step, until the memory floats into a faraway sky, waiting to be caught again.

* * *

><p><strong>Closing AN by PumpkinGrin:**

_**And here is the start of Claus and Other-Claus' "partnership" of sorts. I plan to take this to a new level if Claus survives even further. Maybe he can score his first skill soon? I'd like to hear what you guys think about this; I wanna hear your thoughts and opinions and whatnot. Thanks for reading, and thanks to Fritz for letting me use Jules in this chapter! I hope I did her justice; I find her to be a much more complex character than I thought!**_


	50. Bargaining

Wasn't putting this up till this afternoon, unfortunately besides for being sick STILL something is funky with my house. Some kind of leak or some funky smell coming from the air conditioner that's like burnt rubber. So at my mom's for the night and I'm not sure what my evening is going to look like since we might have to have a repairman come out or something. I don't know? So you get this now!

Edit: We're going to try something out for a few days. There will now be three updates a week. Tuesday, Thursday and Saturday. Please let us know if it's too much to keep up with. We wanted to pick up the action closer to the end.

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><p><em>Quarter Quell<em>

_"For punishment, we'll make them chose amongst themselves. None shall be innocent of chosing one of their own to slaughter."_

_Try-outs_

_.net/forum/Bring_Them_To_Their_Knees/109174/_

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><p><em>Aleah Armani of District 10<em>

_by cottoncandychoctop_

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><p><em>'The thing women have yet to learn is nobody gives you power. You just take it.'<em>

_-Roseanne Barr_

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><p>At this point in time, I completely despise myself.<p>

"But Aleah," I hear you earnestly protest, "Why on earth would you despise yourself so? You are nothing more than the embodiment of all that is pure and decent and right in the world? What could have possibly driven you to hate yourself so?"

Of course people like you could infer at what exactly it is that I have done that's driven me to this point of self-loathing. I imagine most of you would come up with very stereotypical and unimaginative answers such as, perhaps I am feeling remorseful for the fact that I single handedly denied an innocent being of her life. Nope, not it. Maybe that I had driven my district partner into such deep insanity that he had tried to murder me and countless others? Please, that was just fun to watch. Perhaps the knowledge that I had physically tortured a young girl moments before her demise had just eaten my soul alive? Again wrong. You want to know what it really was that I regretted more than anything. Something that I so deeply wished I could take back that it had driven me to this point of self-hatred?

Agreeing to this alliance with Nella.

The fact of the matter is, I don't like people. People in general are ignorant, self-absorbed, materialistic creatures whose desire for self worth and promotion is so great that it makes them all terrible to be around. And what's worse about people is, they talk. And oh god, could Nella talk. I swear there just isn't any kind of filter between her brain and her mouth, because I think I could argue that she can say more in two minutes than that hollow skull of hers could produce in a year and a half. I had only managed to make it through the last day by making sure that my hands never steered at all close to my knives, or I could have bet you that I would have cut her tongue out simply if it meant I got one single, solitary moment of peace.

And it's not like I had been doing badly on my own. I had come out of the bloodbath completely unscathed. I had been able to stash away any weapons that I knew other's could use but I had no need for. I had remained under the radar of any potential threats for the majority of the games, all the while developing the aspects of my first plan. Believe me, in no way do I need Nella's help, however there may come a time in the near future where having endured her presence for these past hours might have been more worthwhile.

But at this point in time, I cannot believe I allowed myself to _voluntarily_enter into this. You'd think that after being snapped at and threatened so many times she would relent with the continual questioning, but apparently that simple concept was far beyond her. It has gotten to the point where I am simply pretending that she's not there anymore, and hoping that if I ignore her for long enough she might decide to go away and bother someone else. However, mercifully, out of nowhere she actually asks a relevant question.

"Were you there, at that thing two days ago?" Nella asks tentatively, "The day that three people died?"

I roll my eyes at her. Did she really think that something that big could have gone down without me having any knowledge of it? "Of course I was there."

"What happened? I mean I know that Tara, Oak and Boston were all killed but I have no idea how."

I almost laugh as my mind flashes back to two days ago, and as just one more of the pieces of my plan had fallen into place.

* * *

><p>There's a reason I've made it this far in the games, a reason that perhaps I am one of the most dangerous tributes left alive. Admittedly, no I'm not very strong, and no I wouldn't be able to rip someone's head of their neck with my bare hands, simply because I don't have the brawn. But what it is that makes me dangerous is something that other tributes have simply overlooked. I know things. Knowledge is powerful, and in the hands of someone who knows how to use it, like me, it is far deadlier than any weapon one could ever hold. Why do you think I spent so much time analysing all the tributes around me, studying them, watching them interact with each other? Because the more I know about them, the more I have to use against them when I need it. Swords? Axes? When you use them there's always a chance that they'll end up in your back. When you fight with words the only potential damage is that someone will be able to turn them around on you, and believe me, none of these halfwits have a tenth of the intellectual capacity to be able to even make a dent in me.<p>

So when I heard the anarchical racket being made on that fourth day I really had no choice but to go see which harebrained morons had decided to have it out. If something happens and you don't see it, it leaves open an event of which you have no knowledge, which at that point was something I could not afford.

I'll admit, I could see the logic behind the whole mutation thing. It was a good concept, show the tributes mutated forms of the people they love and the people they have killed, I imagine that it would have had a desired effect on some people. I just wasn't one of them. The mutts just seemed comical to me, with their peeling flesh and rabid, merciless desire to kill us all. I don't even really remember how I got involved in the fight in the first place, I think it was because the Maia mutt spotted me and immediately made a beeline for me. Apparently killing someone made them pretty pissed because once the Maia mutt had seen me she was obsessed with me and me alone. Luckily she was just as easy to kill a second time as she was the first, nothing that a simple decapitation couldn't fix. Unfortunately after one mutt had noticed me many more had followed, and it was after sending a dagger through the heart of some ugly little kid that I'd never seen before that I was interrupted by a huge roar of, 'ALEAH!' coming from beside me. I knew who it was of course, who else would scream my name with such a determined hatred? After barely having to life a pinky, using his ridiculous amount of bulk to fling a couple of mutts out of his path he had eventually reached me.

I remember there being a conversation, I remember winning the conversation, but the details weren't particularly important. Boston had never exactly been stable, but I could see the cracks in him as clear as crystal now. All it would take was a few more strikes to make him snap completely. I had thrown a knife at his face, not aiming to kill him, only to anger him and it had worked. He had swung his hammer out at my legs, hitting me, and I had screamed dramatically as I had crumpled to the ground. However, the scream was not because it hurt. Don't get me wrong, it wasn't gentle, and I still have the bruise to prove it, but I had moved out of the way in time so that his hammer had really only barely touched me. The first thing you have to learn about a predator, is that when it thinks it has wounded its prey, it will immediately drop its guard. The plan had been simple, make Boston think I was down, then the moment he moved to crush my skull in I would have dodged, move forward with a speed he never could have anticipated I had, and driven a knife clean through that thick hide of his.

Unfortunately however the brute had had some kind of momentary attack of conscience and hadn't closed in on me. He had begun instead murmuring to himself before one of the ugly little mutts had attacked him. I even made an extremely well dramatised production of trying to get to my feet and collapsing in an attempt to get him focus back on me but he had completely flown off the handle. He became obsessed with simply tearing the mutts to shreds and ripping them limb from limb. I had physically laughed at just how insane I had driven him, how simply my words had turned a slightly unstable brute into a completely psychotic, bloodthirsty monster. I didn't even need to stick around to kill him, he was so off his nut that he'd pretty much killed himself anyways.

When I saw his face in the sky that night and saw the picture of the Boston that I had first started to form the cracks in over a week ago the only emotion that passed over me was a rush of hysterical laughter that with nothing more than a few words I had transformed that brainless kid into the masochistic monster who I'd snapped that afternoon. Why fight with swords, when words can destroy a man so much easier and in a much more entertaining way?

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><p>"So what happened?" Nella asks, breaking me out of my memory.<p>

I resist the urge to slap her, "Mutts. They resembled people, some people from outside the games and all the dead tributes."

She gasps, "That must have been terrible."

I snicker, "Why would it have been?"

She looks at me with a simplicity that suggests it should have been obvious, "Well because you'd have to literally face what you had done. You'd have to relive those moments where you had killed people."

I laugh at her extreme naivety, "Please. I'm just glad that that party clown was as easy to kill dead as she was alive. Seriously it was a piece of cake both times."

"How can you just be so _okay_ with killing people?" Nella asks me with that tone that doesn't quite hide how judging she is of me. Stupid self-righteous twit.

I shrug, not paying her any particular attention, "Look, I'll make it very simple for you. It was me or her, and I picked her. And besides, that pathetic little circus freak wouldn't have lasted three seconds in here anyway, I did her a favour by making it quick. I don't think Onyx would have been quite as gracious."

Nella scoffs, "Do you know how Onyx died?"

I choose to ignore that question, because honestly it's a little bit of a sore point for me. My mind quickly flashes back to the bloodbath and that particular highlight where I had had Onyx literally under my knife. While all the rest of those dimwits had been running around like blind rats inside that maze I had quickly scaled the wall of the hedge and climbed up on top of it. Being as light as I am it was easy to quickly dart along on top of the maze, watching as those idiots tried desperately to make some sort of progress, and most of them failed. After killing Maia, which in itself was a breeze, that little bitch from two had come after me in a rage, and it had just been all too easy to overpower her.

In all honesty I have no idea how she earnt herself that eleven in training. How simple it would have been to drive my knife through her heart, to watch as one of the 'biggest threats' in the games was silenced by a district ten tribute no less. It would have been priceless, but I managed to restrain myself. I had needed Onyx alive, so that everything would come together in the end, but that hadn't meant I couldn't make her that little bit more desperate to come after me. So when her blockheaded boyfriend showed up in a 'knight-in-shinning-armour' kind of way it was almost like the stars had aligned and I could release her more furious than ever. And yet, while it seemed that everything had gone exactly as I had planned it, that stupid little shrew had gone and inconveniently gotten herself killed. I mean seriously, she couldn't have managed to keep herself alive for a couple of days so that she could die when I wanted her to? I know, terribly inconsiderate.

However, like I'm going to let Nella know how much that pissed me off. Instead I simply give her a really bored and irritated look, "No. Now ask me how much I care."

My pessimism doesn't deter her from whatever half-witted point she is trying to make, "Well I do know, she was the one who gave me this," she gestures to the very badly bandaged injury on her arm, "and I tried to run away from her as fast as I could, but I got dead-ended in the maze and had to turn back around. I saw the whole thing."

I give her an overdramatic yawn, "By all means keep going. I'm absolutely enthralled by your wondrous tales."

"Aleah this is serious!" she says, sounding almost mad that I don't care in the slightest, "Onyx killed herself! She killed herself, because she couldn't bare living with what she had become. She pressed a knife into Hyre's hand and thrust herself into it because what she had done tormented her so much. _Onyx_: who was nothing but a mean, aggressive, bloodthirsty career! She hated herself for turning into a monster and yet here you are completely unfased by the fact that you murdered an innocent girl in cold blood!"

Once she finished her rant I look at her with a calm, uninterested expression for a few seconds until she stops panting, "You done? Because as much fun as it listening to you rave like a madwoman we actually have somewhere to be."

She glares at me for a few moments but she doesn't have what it takes to stay angry for long, after a few seconds it completely fades and she just looks disappointed. She looks down at the ground and gives me a small, pathetic nod. Oh great, now she's going to be moping and sulking for the rest of the freaking walk. I groan before taking a deep breath.

"Look, Onyx was a fake. A complete and total fake. She wasn't bloodthirsty or aggressive; she just wanted everyone to think she was. Because it was either pretend to be a little murderess or let everyone see just how weak and feeble she really was. The fact of the matter is, she was a scared, bitchy little tween who wanted everyone to think she was big and strong when she wasn't. I guess in the end, her true colours showed," Nella looks back up at me as I try to get this idea through her thick skull, "I'm not like that; I don't have some hidden, subconscious deeper level where really I'm all sunshine and rainbows, just longing to be loved and all that crap. What you see now is who I am. I didn't enjoy killing Maia; it was just something that had to be done. And eventually, if it comes to the point where it's just you and me left, I will kill you, without any hesitation. The sooner you understand that the better off you'll be." I don't say it to intimidate her, I just speak in a matter-of-fact way.

Nella looks at me intently before giving another nod, this time with slightly more purpose, "I know that."

"Good." I say as I turn away from her and resume walking, "Now for heaven's sake pick up the pace, I would actually like to get there before the games are over."

Nella stays quiet for a nearly half an hour, an all time world record, but unfortunately it doesn't last.

"So are you going to tell me why we are trying to find the others so badly?" she asks curiously and I quickly turn around and silence her with a glare.

"Nope. Now shut up before I shut you up." I snap but unfortunately my continuous threats are starting to lose their fear factor since I haven't acted on them yet.

"Look if you want my help you're going to have to fill me in at some point."

I snicker, "When did I ever say I wanted your help?" That shuts her up.

She continues to nag me about it non-stop, and once again I find myself cursing myself internally for accepting this. Literally it gets to the point where my hand is clasped around my knife, itching to slash it across her throat, ransom or no ransom this is not worth it. But luckily for Nella within the next five minutes, after what feels like an eternity, we finally reach the camp of the anti-careers, and just like anticipated they're not home. There's plenty of evidence that they've been here recently, the remains of last night's fire for one and the extremely badly hidden bloodstained bandages thrown on the ground for two, as well plenty of items lying around to suggest they would be back very soon.

This is not the first time I had been here, in fact ever since the idea for my plan had been forming in the back of my mind I had been checking up on the four anti-careers. The fact that I had been here four times now and not one of them had noticed me once is just the smallest indicator of the combined intelligence of the alliance. In fact if it hadn't been for a few select individuals in the anti-career alliance that I needed in order to pull this thing off I would have just gone and talked someone else into becoming my pawn, just so I didn't have to deal with any of these tools.

I had already picked out exactly where I wanted to be when the four amigos graced us with their presence so I walk over to the huge, black oak at the edge of their campsite and begin making my way up it. Nella watches me with a confused expression on her face for a while and I sigh. I'm going to have to completely spell it out for her aren't I?

"Do you need some kind of invitation?" I say patronisingly, "I thought district seven's only claim to fame was trees. If you can't get up here you are literally useless."

She blushes a little before following me eagerly up the tree. Once we get about ten metres up and I am sitting on a large, fairly stable branch I call out for her to quit moving and she stops next to me. I quickly position her on the side facing away from the camp, and try to get her to sit behind some thick foliage so she is obscured from vision. Once I think she's exactly where I want her I stand up and lean against the trunk of the tree.

"What now?" she whispers from behind me.

"Now," I spit back, "We wait."

She pauses, "I'm not an idiot you know-"

"Could have fooled me," I say to myself, and while I know she heard me she ignores me and keeps going.

"- I mean the first thing you do after we team up is go and try to find Araucaria. I know you're planning something." She pauses, as if she's expecting me to give her a big, shiny star for recognising the bleating obvious. When I do nothing but continue to give her a patronising look she continues, "You can tell me, whatever you want me to do I'll do."

"You really want to help?"

"Yes."

"Then sit down. Shut up. And be quiet," I hiss across the branches, "I can hear them coming."

Sure enough, within a few minutes the four buffoons storm their way back into their little forest camp site. Seriously the four of them are so bloody loud they would have been able to wake Yianna when she was sleeping, and that's saying something, that fat little cow was pretty much comatose while asleep. They have to be either incredibly arrogant or incredibly stupid to be making that much noise, take your pick, either is feasible. And yet between them, they're all pretty beaten up. That boorish little blonde from five is the only one who isn't carrying some kind of injury out of the four, and both Lilly and pretty boy from four aren't looking so hot. In fact Lilly looks just about dead on her feet. She's got one arm around Aspen's neck and I'd be willing to bet that he's the only thing keeping her from collapsing into a pile on the dirt beneath her. That's not the worst of it either, she's shaking like a dog and there are beads of sweat dripping down her face. Once they reach the camp below me Aspen slowly drops her down onto the ground and she winces in pain as she sits, looking like it hurts simply to breathe. Wimp.

They're chatting among themselves and while they are frustratingly loud I can't quite make out what the conversation's about, although from where I'm standing it looks like some kind of argument going on between blondie and Lilly. Uh oh, trouble in paradise it seems.

"Well it took you long enough," I shout down to them, causing a couple of them to literally jump. Pathetic, "And I thought perhaps the four of you had run away and eloped. Figured that when it came to the four of you polygamy wasn't to be ruled out, but oh well, no matter, better late than never I suppose."

They all look around anxiously, jerking their heads around trying to find the source of the sound. I laugh at how terribly hopeless they are before snapping of a stick from a branch above me and hurling it down so it lands at Lilly's feet.

I _was_ aiming for her head but hey, beggars can't be choosers.

"Up here you dipshits," I yell, and finally they all turn around and see me. They all have slightly different reactions to seeing me, Lilly looks enraged, Aspen looks shocked and worried at the same time, blondie looks surprised and the district four boy looks pretty much about ready to climb up here and take my head off. There is a confused, idiotic expression on all their faces for a few moments before Lilly eventually perks up.

"What the hell are you doing here Armani?" she yells, although with a voice as high as hers it comes out as more of a squeak.

"Oh Lilly I've missed you too!" I mock, "Oh how absence _does_make the heart grow fonder."

"Why don't you come down here and say that!" she yells back, looking like she wants to move closer towards me but she gasps in pain as she attempts to stand, before realising it is way beyond her physical capabilities at the moment and lowering herself back to the ground.

"Why, because Lilly my dear, I'm not quite as half-witted as you," I reply sweetly, "And while four on one odds do sound tempting I think I'll stay up here for the time being."

Lilly looks like she's about to attempt to lash into another round of pathetic tweenage insults but Aspen beats her to the punch.

"What do you want Aleah?" he asks, and while the fact that he can see that how terribly my goading affects Lilly isn't going to be good for him shows he's not a complete blockhead, his bluntness just makes him seem dull and highly unintelligent. Probably a fairly accurate representation actually.

"Well obviously just your highly sophisticated and engrossing conversation Araucaria," I scoff, giving him a smile so sweet it would turn sugar into acid.

He rolls his eyes at me, obviously not entertained. Not that anyone around here ever appears to enjoy anything anymore; least of all that clone. He's just a barrel of laughs that one, can't keep the jokes off his lips for a second. Yeah, and while we're at it I'm a sweet innocent pixie, well loved and wanting nothing more than world peace.

"Yeah, well I can't say I find conversing with you all that pleasant, so why don't you just skip to the point," he retorts, but his attempt at using my tactics against me doesn't really work when I can hear the slight quiver of anxiety in his voice. He's apparently not quite as stupid as I give him credit for, he knows that me being here is most definitely not a good sign. And he would be right.

I take out one of my knives and begin casually spinning it against my finger, "Well you see, I have a business proposition for all of you," I say, using the knife to gesture towards Aspen and his little sidekicks, "As it is, I have a plan. A rather ingenious plan if I do say so myself, one that is guaranteed to tip the scales slightly more in all of our favours. But the thing is, I need numbers." I sigh melodramatically before adding, "Don't worry none of you will have to strain those miniscule mental capacities of yours', I've taken care of all the intellectual factors of the plot, I just need mindless brute force which is where the four of you come in."

"Like we'd ever work with you," the district four boy booms up at me. He looks absolutely furious in response to my comment. Quite evidently he's not one of my biggest fans.

I gave him a menacing smile, "Ah. I did anticipate that kind of reaction. So I guess it's a good thing I can offer some incentive." I turn and fix my eyes and my grin solely on Aspen and panic quickly flashes across his face. Very quickly everything goes silent as the three others standing below me look between me and Aspen with confused glances.

"What is she talking about Ara?" Blondie asks quietly, looking up at me hesitantly.

"Yes, what am I talking about A-" I hang onto the 'ah' sound of his name, giving him the time to chose which name I drop.

"Don't!" he yells quickly, the panic on his face very clear for all to see.

"-raucaria?" I finish, a satisfied look on my face.

He looks up at me, a burning fury in his eyes, but it is soon replaced by an overwhelming look of defeat. He can hate me as much as he likes, but it won't change the fact that I have the power to completely destroy him, and he knows it. All I have to do is drop his name and his whole world would come crashing down around him in a storm of smoke and ashes. And even if he could convince the rest of his friends I was lying, the rumour alone would spark up a storm in the capitol, and they'd have someone over identifying his brother faster than you can say 'scandal.'

He sighs, "So what's the plan Aleah?"

I laugh at how easily I could win him over. If only it were so simple to manipulate the rest of these nitwits.

"No way," Lilly spits at the same time as the boy from four shouts, "Like hell we're going along with this!"

Blondie moves over closer to Aspen, looking puzzled, "What's happening Ara? Why are you even listening to this psychopath?"

Aspen doesn't answer, he just keeps his face cold and hard, his brow furrowed as looks out in front of him.

"What does _she_know?" Lilly asks, glaring at me in the process, to which I snicker.

"Look I'm doing this," he says very tersely, "So you're either with me or against me."

"Well said," I add with an amused chuckle, "So shall we perhaps get back on to the point of this conversation?"

"No," the district four boy says as he begins pacing, "We are not going to do anything you say, end of story."

"Well I guess that depends on how much your ally means to you..." I utter ominously, raising my eyebrow at him.

"Nothing you know could be _that_bad that it's worth working with _you._"

"Yes, it could," Aspen says darkly from behind him, "and it is. So whatever she wants me to do, I'll do."

"You can't just let her manipulate you like this," blondie whispers, well perhaps she needs some lessons in whispering because I could hear it and I was a good fifteen metres above her.

"I don't have a choice," he hisses back through closed teeth.

"I remember you," I say, directing my words back at the blonde, "District five right? I saw you in training, you weren't half bad. What was it you spent so much time hacking around? Oh that's right it was this weird axe, one with two heads from memory..." I look back at Aspen with a self-satisfied grin, "Tell me Araucaria, do you remember seeing such an axe around at all?"

He glances up at me with a look that is almost darkly humorous, like he can see how well I've constructed everything, "Why yes Aleah, you had one in your hands while you perched on top of the Cornucopia bracing to jump down and drive a knife into Maia's back."

I clap my hands together, "I think you're right! Hmm...now where could I have put it?" I look off into the distance with a mock puzzled look.

Suddenly, blondie's whole outward mood seems to shift. She steps towards the base of my tree, eager hope burning in her irises, "Do you know where it is?" she asks enthusiastically. Was everyone watching? That's how you land a fish. Throw in the bait, let it settle for a few moments, reel it in. As basic as the amount of knowledge Lilly's brain can hold.

I feign ignorance as I look back at her, "I guess that depends on how willing you are to assist me."

"Then what's the plan?"

She looks like a keen little puppy who just got told she was about to go on a walk. Pathetic really how simply mentioning a juiced up knife can all of a sudden make her as compliant as pie. In my mind I had thought she would be harder to win over, I'd seen her fight with Onyx in the training centre and assumed she had some amount of strength, but I guess I was wrong. When it comes down to it, everyone can be bought, you just need to find the right price. That's one of the key flaws in humanity as a species, we are all inherently selfish, and we will do whatever we have to be happy and to survive. It's this flaw in people that makes them so easy to manipulate, and it's what makes people like me the ones who do survive, we who acknowledge the fact and use it to our advantage.

Unfortunately however, Lilly and the boy from four seem to have not yet been convinced, and instantly object.

"Aella you can't seriously be going along with this?" pretty boy asks with a slight tone of astonishment in his voice, but mostly it's just pure rage.

"You're completely insane!" Lilly yells at her, but Aella ignores her and instead appeals to Moss.

"I _need _that double axe Moss," she declares adamantly, "I'm a sitting duck without it."

"So we'll find you one later, _without her_." Moss replies angrily, his fury building so much he's beginning to shake.

"We should at least hear her out," Aella argues, "Who knows, maybe this could work," she looks back up at me with a determined look in her eye. She's had a sniff of her double axe and I can see plain and clear that she'll stop at nothing to get it now that she knows there's a chance. Exactly as I'd predicted, "So what is it you want us for?"

"Well it's quite simple really," I say in my trademark, patronising tone, "We're going to kill a few careers. My plan is to isolate a few individual careers and draw them out into an awaiting ambush."

Lilly laughs mockingly, and it takes all my self restraint not to hurl one of my knives down to split open her skull, "Oh yeah, and how do you plan on getting that to happen miss-know-it-all?"

I give her a conniving smile and answer her in two words, "Live bait."

I keep my eyes fixed solely on her and after that pea-sized brain of hers finally adds two and two together and she sees what's happening she immediately protests.

"You really think I'm going to let you use me as bait? You're even more idiotic than I thought." She yells up at me, shaking her head profusely at the idea.

"Well think about it sweetheart," I say condescendingly, "Who is the single, solitary biggest threat to the lives of every single tribute in these games?"

"You," Aspen says darkly, which makes me snicker.

"While I'm flattered you think so Araucaria, no." When none of them provide any sort of answer to my question I sigh, roll my eyes at their combined stupidity, and begin to spell it out for them. "I would personally say that that ironically flame-haired pyromaniac Roy would be seeded number one to win this thing. But, who was it that Roy had an unexplainable, albeit slightly creepy, romantic bond with?"

Aella is the only one who seems to _finally_ put two and two together here. She slowly breathes the name, "Skye." She looks over at Lilly and understanding dawns in her face.

"Correct. And who was it that stuck a blade through Skye?" I ask, looking back down at Lilly with a judging expression. Even though I couldn't care less that she killed Skye, I still hoped that the guilt trip would work.

"Me," Lilly said quietly, looking down at her toes quickly.

"So I think it would be safe to say that Roy is pretty damn keen to turn you into a small pile of ash, wouldn't you?" They all seem to see the logic in what I'm saying, and hence don't interrupt me yet, "The plan is simple. All of us will hide in a secure location, creating a perimeter that Roy won't be able to break. We send Lilly out in front of where the careers are staying, and all she has to do is mention something about the satisfaction of ripping innocent little Skye from the world...yadda yadda yadda...Roy will become completely furious, and in a fit of rage he will come after you. You run away and lead him to the spot where the rest of us are waiting ready to ambush him, and with five against one we take him out. If anyone follows, we take them out as well. Simple enough for you?"

They all remain silent for a few moments, each one of them seemingly considering my plan. Aspen looks thoughtful but like he's picturing how everything will turn out. Aella is nodding approvingly and at the prospect of taking out more careers Lilly seems to warm to the idea of putting up with me if it means she gets to knock out a few more of those oh so despicable careers. Aella looks over at Moss.

"It's a good plan," she admits to him, "And we do need to make some kind of attack on them at some point? Why not now? We'll have one more person on our side and we'll be able to take out Roy, the _leader_ of the careers."

"Plus, for an alliance against the careers, none of you have actually done anything to stop them yet," I add, giving Moss a devious smile. He glares at me and turns away from me, raking his hands through his hair.

"How could we know we can trust you?" Lilly asks, "How do we know you haven't been working with the careers to set this up?"

I shrug, "You don't. But, if it means anything to you, this is the third time I've been standing above the four of you in a tree, and as of now none of you have had your throats cut yet."

"No," Moss yells out of nowhere, "I won't do it. Not when she has the three of you wrapped around her little conniving fingers. She's threatening you, bribing you, enticing you, yet you want to _work with her?_Well I won't let her do it to me too," he gives me a look fuelled with nothing but pure hatred, "You've got nothing on me, you can't sway me."

I give an overly dramatic, exasperated sigh, "Well then Moss, I warn you that what is about to happen is completely on you. This could have all been unnecessary, but since you leave me no choice, you force me to act."

I let them all be confused for a few seconds before I turn around and climb across to where I stashed Nella. I hiss, "Showtime," before I quickly raise my knife to her throat and drag her out into the open. She looks at me with startled and shocked eyes, and as I hold her out on the edge of the branch we are standing on she glances down and sees Aspen below her. His eyes widen in terror as he sees her, my knife to her throat and inches away from being tossed to her death. I smile at the look of absolute panic in his face. He cares about her, a lot evidently, more than I ever could have hoped for after reading the pathetic, lovesick little notes in Nella's journal.

"Nella," he breathes, a thousand emotions in that one name, and quickly moves towards the base of our tree. I press the knife closer against Nella's neck and she lets out a little strangled noise which stops him in his tracks.

"I wouldn't move any closer if I were you," I warn, "Not if we want your little girlfriend to live through the next five minutes," I turn to Moss, "So Moss, I'm offering you an ultimatum. Either sit quiet, shut up and work with the rest of us in taking out a couple of careers or Nella here takes the plunge of her life. You're choice."

He looks like he can't quite believe how quickly this turn of events has occurred, and gives me a half hearted glance, "You're bluffing. You won't kill her."

"Oh am I? Tell me Araucaria, was I bluffing when I warned you that I was about to kill Maia? Did my extremely vivid conscience make me hesitate at all?"

Aspen looks over at Moss with a desperate look on his face, "Please Moss, she isn't bluffing. She will kill Nella. Please you can't let her; I'm begging you just listen to what she wants."

Moss' face contorts in rage and he looks like he is waging some kind of mental battle within himself. He shakes his head, "Ara if we let her use us like this it could be one of us that pays the price."

"So you'd rather Nella did?" he asks, completely confounded.

"Moss, the plan is good, we'll all be fine and we'll get to kill off some of the careers," Lilly beseeches him, her tone sounding slightly more urgent than it had before. Isn't how funny how threat of death seems to make everyone else slightly more desperate?

Moss continues to shake his head. God he's stubborn, the big brute seriously needs to just get over himself already. Boohoo: everything isn't going you're way so you're going to have a tantrum and kick your feet and scream, seriously how old is he? Shouldn't he have grown out of the terrible twos, I dunno, sixteen years ago?

I decide perhaps some further incentive was needed so I draw my knife away from Nella's throat and give her a little push. Now when I say little, I mean _little_. Like seriously I wouldn't have used nearly enough force to such much as make her need to take a step forward. So you can imagine my surprise when she flies out in front of me, screaming as she falls from the branch and grabs onto one a few feet in front of the one I'm standing on. She screams as she falls and as she desperately clings on for dear life to the branch she yells out "Araucaria! Help!"

_How the hell did that happen?_

Seriously, I barely touched her. I look down at her, her arms wrapped tightly around the branch, and she constantly looks like she's struggling and her face looks completely panicked but at the same time, her grip on that branch is iron tight and she's not sweating or puffing at all. Almost like she's not really as scared as she seems to be acting... Damn. She's much more like me than I give her credit for, and a much better actress than I had anticipated. She could see just as well as I could that Moss needed to be pushed that little bit further so she willingly jumped out of that branch to make it look like I had pushed her, and now she was acting as if she was within inches of falling to her death, and it was very convincing. I decide to go along with it, so I walk over to where Nella is supposedly holding on for dear life and crouch down next to her hands.

Aspen is beyond terrified now, he's hysteric, and the rest of them are all wide eyed with disbelief. I guess their opinions of me were not quite as low as they should have been. I'd be flattered, but at the moment it was just annoying how dewy eyed and innocent they all were. Life sucks, people are terrible. Accept it. Deal with it. Move on.

Aspen runs over to Moss and grabs him by the shirt, "Get over yourself now and tell her you'll do anything she goddamn wants, right now!"

"But Ara-" he protests once more but I cut him off.

"Tick tock tick tock," I say as I dramatically pry one of Nella's fingers off of the tree, "Dear Nella can only hold on here for so long."

"Ara, help! Please!" Nella shrieks again, the agony in her voice so realistic even I'm impressed by it.

"Moss, just stop it," Aella yells as Aspen booms, "_Now!"_

"Okay, okay, stop it, stop it," Moss shouts quickly, "I'll do whatever you want, I'll go along with your plan, anything just stop it and help Nella back up."

I smile in victory, "Are you sure? Because I don't want you to do anything unless you're _one hundred percent_certain you want to."

If looks could kill, I would have been a goner, "I'm sure," he hisses through closed teeth.

I give them all a mischievous grin but before I help Nella up I remember one more aspect, "Now before I save Nella all of you take any weapons you have on you and throw them at the base of the tree."

They all comply immediately, obviously they'd learnt not to stuff around with me. I reach down and give Nella my arm and help hoist her up, but I barely have to do anything as she pretty much gets herself up without my help. The minute she's back on solid ground, well technically it was tree but you get my point, Moss storms off away from us. Good, now I won't have to deal with him PMS'ing for the next few hours before we leave. Lilly looks like she wants to follow after him, she even vainly tries to stand up again, but apparently it hasn't sunk into her thick skull yet that movement is not something she's up to at this point. Aspen quickly moves over towards her and whispers something in her ear. Lilly gives a half-hearted nod before lying down and lying her head down on one of the packs. I turn back to Nella.

"That was incredibly stupid," I say once she's back on the branch, "You realise you could have killed yourself just then. How dumb are you, that you'd put yourself in that position?"

She shrugs and brushes herself off, "I'm from district seven. If you think that's the first time I've been dangling for my life in a tree you're not nearly as smart as you think you are."

"Yeah but I'd be willing to bet that's the first time you've been hanging for your life while someone pried your fingers from the tree you were holding on to," I add condescendingly. On one hand, what I was saying was true, it was incredibly dumb, but on the other hand I respected her intelligence more for thinking of it. What she had done had made everything that much more intense, she had raised the stakes, and it had worked. Perhaps there was some hope for her after all. A very small, miniscule slither of hope maybe, but a slither none the less.

She ignores my point, "You should have told me what you were going to do. I would have gone along with it either way."

"I needed it to be real," I add disdainfully, "If you had known it wouldn't have been. Besides it worked didn't it? So quit your complaining, you're fine and now you can go be reunited with you lost love."

"I could have made it real," she says as we begin climbing down, "And what would you have done if Moss hadn't given in? If he had kept refusing?"

"He didn't," I say offhandedly, "He cracked just like I knew he would."

"But what if he hadn't?" she presses on. I quickly retract my previous thoughts about respecting her intelligence, now she's just back to her usual ditzy, approval-hunting self.

"Then I would have killed you," I say harshly, "I took a calculated gamble, I went all in and it payed off. Like always everything went exactly as I planned it. Don't play the 'what if' game with me Nella, because you won't like what you hear, especially if you're hoping to find some compassionate side of me. You were my biggest bargaining chip, that's all, so you can quit lying to yourself dreaming about some potential friendship because I don't make friends."

She quickly takes her eyes off me, and adds feebly, "Well then excuse me for hoping you weren't as terrible as everyone seems to think."

"I thought I made it very clear that this alliance is nothing but strategic, and I just put the two of us in the best position possible to be able to tip the scales in our favour," I whisper venomously, just before we hit the ground, "You want to go have a cry about how I had to hurt your feelings in the process, go do it to your boyfriend not me, especially when I pre-warned you that I have absolutely no qualms about acting in what others would call a 'moral grey area.'"

She doesn't have any time to respond because the minute her feet hit the lightly covered earth below us Aspen has his arms around her, gently pressing his lips against her hair. Cute enough to make me vomit. But as he looks up over her shoulder he eyes me with an ice gold, possessive glare, the kind of look a mother bear would give someone going near her cub. It quite clearly says, "Back of bitch. One hair on her head out of place and I'll rip you to shreds." I think his intention is to make me wary of him, but in all honesty it's just funny that he honestly thinks that when it comes down to it _he'd_be the one to take _me_out. I give him an impish grin and he quickly pulls out of Nella's embrace, wraps his arm around her shoulder and slowly but surely guides her in the complete opposite direction of me. I turn around and walk up next to Aella.

"Look's like I'll be sticking with you blondie," I say, not even attempting to hide the slight tone of disgust at the prospect, "At least until you can cool down your juiced up boyfriend over there."

"Call me blondie one more time, I dare you," Aella spits back.

"Gees, calm down blondie, don't want you to break a nail or something," the mock concern in my voice is enough to have her looking like she wants to literally challenge me to a death match, and all because I'd called her a girl. Hate to have to point out the obvious here, but she _is_a girl, and no amount of uglying herself up is going to help her grow a pair.

"Why are you hanging around me anyway?" she asks, walking over to where one of her packs was lying, "I'd have thought Aspen and Nella together would have been too tempting for you to resist. Think of all the damage you could do there."

"All in good time, all in good time," I chuckle darkly, "But as it is, right now you're the only one who _needs_me alive. You need me to deliver you to that axe you're so fond of. Kill me now: you'll never see your precious weapon of mass murder ever again. I'll very gladly take you to it, but in return it's your job to make sure that whiny over there doesn't boil over and attempt to decapitate me." I gesture towards the place where Moss had stormed off before.

Aella rolls her eyes, "Don't worry, I can handle Moss, and he's really not normally that bad. I guess he just didn't like the idea of you manipulating Araucaria."

"Well neither did you, until you had something to gain from it," I leer.

"What's that supposed to mean?" she challenges, taking a step in towards me.

"Gees, temper, temper," I say, keeping my head held high and my eyes not faltering for a second under her glare, "I'm simply saying that perhaps you're not the golden girl you seem to want the rest of them to see you as. When it comes down to it, you did what you had to do to help yourself, despite the fact that it could potentially get one of your allies killed later down the track. But don't worry, that was the right thing to do, not in the sense that it was the 'honourable' thing to do, but it's what I would have done."

"Firstly, I am in _no way_any kind of golden girl," she states viciously, "And secondly, that's not true at all. This will be good for all of us, even if Moss can't see it, your plan isn't half bad and taking out Roy sooner rather than later is essential. Speaking of which, do you actually know where the careers are?"

I give her a condescending look, "Please. You _really_ think I would have devised this whole plan and _not_known where to find the careers. I'm not quite as absent minded as the rest of you, I know to think ahead."

"So if the plan's already so bloody perfect when can we get a move on?" she questions bluntly.

"As soon as your airhead of an ally decides to grace us with his presence once more." I retort, "Start packing everything up. If the rest of you can move any faster than this current glacial pace, I would actually like to find the careers before sundown." And with that I walk away from her to go collect all the weapons they had already dropped and put them in my backpack.

By the time Nella and Aspen tear themselves out of each others' arms and get off their asses it takes us nearly half an hour to pack up everything that they had cumulatively left lying around the past couple of days. And yet, by the time the four of us are packed and ready to go, we still have seen no sign of Moss deciding to grow up, stop throwing his hissy fit and come back so that we could go. I watch as Nella attempts to try and make some kind of conversation with Aella, probably hoping that she'd be more successful in making a friend this time around than she was with me, but Aella is just about as amiable as I am. In fact Aella seems almost uncomfortable whenever Nella tries to talk to her, and never seems to dignify her questions with anything more than a three word answer. I guess I'd never thought that anyone would find _me_ easier to converse with than someone as terribly pleasant as Nella, though from what I've seen of her Aella doesn't exactly seem like one for girl talk. Maybe the fact that I'm about as ditzy and girly as the Relk zombie mutt and as pleasant as a lethal injection makes me the more Aella-like choice. Screw that, the stupid blonde needs to learn to be able to stand her own gender for heaven's sake, we only make up what, 50% of the population?

"Why haven't you told everyone yet?" Aspen asks coldly, his voice breaking me out of my girl analysis, "You've had a million chances too, there's been nothing to stop you, and yet no one knows. Why not?"

I can't stop myself from letting out a chilling laugh, "Oh please, you know exactly why I haven't told anyone," I gesture around at the rest of the tributes all moving busily around me, "_This_is why. As long as I have this over you, I have a power over you and all your little friends. If I had exposed you I would have lost my greatest asset and I wouldn't have been able to pull this off."

He frowns and looks away from me, leading me to give him a cold, calculated smile, "What? Hoping that perhaps it was some more compassionate, human emotion that was restraining me," I laugh that empty, heartless laugh again, "Don't go looking for a morally redeeming quality in me Araucaria. You won't find one."

"Is that why you brought Nella into this?" he asks accusingly, "Because she was someone you could blindly manipulate? She's a person Aleah, not a piece of meat."

I give him a knowing smile, "Oh, so she hasn't told you then. Interesting..."

"Told me what?" he questions immediately and my grin widens. God, people are easy to bait.

"I didn't drag Nella into anything. _She_found _me_ and asked for an alliance, then spent the next day and a half telling me that she would do anything to help me. I didn't push her out of that tree, she jumped and I didn't even tell her to do it." I can't quite keep the mischievous smile off my lips, "Perhaps it's not _me_you should be so wary of, hey Araucaria? Believe it or not, your girlfriend is a lot more like me than you'd like to admit."

Aspen looks like he's about to jump to defend Nella's honour and declare his eternal and undying trust in her, but I don't want to hear it. I turn around and walk away from him, in no mood to have a philosophical debate about Nella's goodness, but stop as I reach the edge of the camp. I turn my head over my shoulder and call back to him.

"Tell me when that mindless oaf decides to man-up and show his face. The careers can only wait for us to come and kill them for so long."

And then I strut off out of their line of sight, hoping beyond hope that they wouldn't somehow screw up this plan. Because if they did, I would have just willingly entered myself into _another_alliance and would have had to endure their presences for absolutely no reason. Kill. Me. Now.


	51. Not a Place For Morals

I really don't feel well X_X I"m going back to bed now. Quarter Quell try-outs are up. Check out the forum. If you can't find the forum or get it to work, let me know and I'll see what's wrong with the link. I hope you really enjoy this chapter...Tensions building!

Next update is Saturday. From now on, as long as everyone is good with the updates-they will be Tuesday, Thursday and Saturday since the games are reaching fever pitch.

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><p>Quarter Quell<p>

Try-outs have begun!

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><p>Aella Dekas, District Five<p>

by Lexi Blaze

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><p><em>Cause in the end, no one loses or wins<em>  
><em>The story begins again and again<em>

- _Forgiveness and Love _by Miley Cyrus

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><p><em>I sprint home as fast as I can, almost as if I'm running for my life. But that's ridiculous. I'm not running for my life . . . I'm running from a dog.<em>

_Pascal's dog Maxi and I race to my home, yelping and barking all the way as we fling our bodies against the wind, reveling in freedom now that the school day has just finished. Flynn and Pascal are both walking to my house as well – we're going to do homework together before playing ball or hanging out or something. I have no idea where they are now though – Maxi and I have left them in the dust._

_The dog and I arrive at my small, grey, two-story house at the same time. We flop down on the ground, panting, and Maxi's tongue rolls around in the dirt as I scratch his belly. My blonde ponytail gets dusty from lying on the ground, but I only sit up once Flynn and Pascal arrive at my house and roll their eyes at me._

_We go barging in through the front door, talking loudly and tracking mud through the house. My pampered and all-too-perfect sister Cleo is sitting at the kitchen table, reading a book._

"_Whoa. She can read?" Flynn sniggers sarcastically and I punch him in the stomach._I'm_the only person allowed to insult my sister._

_She hears his comment, though, and flips her hair over her shoulder, curling her lip when she looks up at us. I notice that her heavy mascara is flaking, and I smirk. "I'm learning how to lose five pounds," she says, her rose-red lips smiling unpleasantly._

"_Here's an idea," I say over-enthusiastically, raising my eyebrows as high as they will go, "wipe the makeup off your face!"_

_I sprint up the stairs to my bedroom as Flynn and Pascal shout with laughter. Maxi stays in the kitchen, hoping for table scraps from Cleo that he's not going to get._

_We settle down on the floor, cracking open our textbooks and pulling our pencils from our bags. We're studying electricity – big surprise, since we're from the district of electricity. If there's a power outage in Panem, it's our fault. And let me tell you, our industry is completely different from the technology of District 3, no matter what anyone else says._

_I don't mind electricity. Sure, I don't want to work with it when I grow up, but it's not like I have a choice. Besides, I understand it: electrons and protons and neutrons and conductors and circuits and all that crap. I'm not a genius with it, like Pascal – he's already figured out how to get signal for the TV so we can watch ridiculous Capitol soap operas – but at least I'm not hopeless at it, like Flynn._

_The brunette boy pushes his textbook over to me as I lie on my stomach, my chin in my hands. He gives me a puppy dog face, but I reach out and squash it by poking him in the eye. "C'mon, Aella," he says once I'm done my attack. "Please, can you do my homework for me? You know I don't get this stuff."_

"_That's because you've got the IQ of a potato," Pascal snorts, not looking up from his work._

"_Pascal!" I chide. "Don't insult potatoes!"_

_Flynn scowls playfully and lunges across the room at me, grabbing a fistful of my hair and whamming my head into the floor. I respond with a kick to his stomach, and soon we're in a full-out wrestling and shoving match in the middle of my bedroom floor._

_Pascal just glares at us as I knock Flynn into my bed, but I know he wants to join in. Flynn then tackles me, grabbing me around the middle, and we both go flying backwards into the bedside table. The lamp on it teeters and then falls, shattering upon the floor. We stop our fighting and stare at it incredulously._

_A shout suddenly sounds from downstairs. "Just because you guys are having a threesome up there," Cleo yells, "does not mean you can be as loud as you want!"_

_I immediately let go of Flynn, and he does the same, almost as if my skin has turned to fire. "Cleo!" I shot back, racking a hand through my ponytail, "that's absolutely disgusting!"_

_We hear her snickering from below._

_From then on, we try to get back to our homework, but none of us can concentrate. The final decision is to do it later. But I never end up doing Flynn's homework – or mine. Because tomorrow is the Reaping of the 24__th__Annual Hunger Games . . . and we all know what happened to me then._

Something kicks me, and my eyes snap open. My hand clutches around my dagger tightly, and I glance in the direction of the kick - but it was just Moss, twitching in his sleep.

I drop the small, dull dagger to my side and run my hands over my face tiredly. The sun may have just gone down, but everyone's taking a short nap before what is going to be an epic fight with the Careers . . . and since I'm the only uninjured one, I've been put on guard duty. I'm not falling asleep on the job, but I _am_ zoning out and thinking of old memories of home. Like when I first met Pascal: we were both climbing in a tree, he pushed me out, and I broke my arm. Or the time when Flynn and I illegally went swimming in a small body of water we found just inside the district fence. And the time when we blamed my sister, Cleo, for stealing sweets from the candy store? Priceless. And I can't forget the time I convinced Flynn to eat a mud pie I made (literally, it was made of mud) and he threw up in Pascal's bedroom.

The nostalgia made my eyes water, and I quickly swiped at them. I wasn't one of those prissy girls who went around saying she never cried - I cried quite often, and I wasn't afraid to admit it. But that didn't mean I liked it: Flynn always made fun of me for crying quicker and more often than him and Pascal. To me, it was a reminder that while they were my best friends, we were still different.

I shake my head again and let the nostalgic feelings pass. I _can't_ break my concentration and think about home right now - I'm in the middle of the Hunger Games. I need to concentrate on survival.

I glance over my fellow allies - and the two new oddballs in our group. Moss is sleeping between me and Lilly (on a bed of moss. How ironic). He keeps twitching in his sleep, as if he's having nightmares. I can't blame him - my own dreams are plagued by tributes like that Onyx girl, even though she's dead. (But that was what made it scarier - I had noticed the graveyard in the arena, and I couldn't get it out of my mind.)

Moss's brown hair flops into his closed eyes, and the corners of my mouth can't help but turn up into a small smile. Although I haven't known him for long, he's a great friend - and we already have inside jokes, like the "You're pretty" thing. I'm sure the Capitol is just eating that up - along with Lilly's accusation of me trying to kiss him. The Capitol probably thinks there's some sort of budding romance going on.

That is as far from the truth as they can get, though. Yeah, sure, the thought has crossed my mind, but when I think deeper about it . . . it would be like having a relationship with Pascal's dog, Maxi. Still, I had felt guilty when Lilly accused me, as if I really had done something wrong.

But Moss and I are friends - simple as that. The end. If the Capitol wants to make it into something more, well, they aren't going to get me to go along with it. Not in a million years. No offense to Moss, of course.

All of a sudden, Lilly - who is sleeping beside him - gasps and attempts to sit up. She then groans, and lays her head back down on the ground. I see her face wince in pain, and awkwardly I ask "You okay?"

She only grunts in response. I start to feel worried - she's looking awfully pale. She tells me she feels like she's burning up, but I see her shivering. There is sweat on her brow, under her armpits and along her spine. It's soaked through her shirt.

"You need a bath," I say hesitantly. "Your sweat makes you feel colder. My mom used to tell me that."

She grins weakly, showing off a flash of white teeth. "My sister used to say that, too," she breathes shakily, shutting her eyes as if watching a memory play on the undersides of her eyelids. She says nothing more, but I grab one of our preciously full water bottles and poke her, none too gently, on the shoulder.

She opens her eyes to slits, but I awkwardly shove the water bottle in her face. I'm not used to taking care of people, period, let alone hanging around a girl like this – sick and dying.

Lilly's eyes seem unfocused, and she doesn't take the water bottle. I can't even tell if she sees it. Sighing, I grab it back hastily, as if my hands will shrivel up and turn black if they're too close to her. But with steady fingers, I manage to unscrew the lid ad hold the bottle up to her lips.

I'm expecting her to drink from it greedily, but she just lets it dribble over her lips, barely opening her mouth.

And that's when I know something's seriously wrong.

"Um . . . Lilly?" I say timidly. Although I still believe she'll just pop up, eyes bright and feverish, and snap at me for waking her . . . she doesn't. Instead, she lets her head flop down to the ground from where I had been holding it roughly by the chin.

"Oh God," I say under my breath, my eyes wide. "Lilly? Lilly - stay with me, now. Please?" I gasp, shaking her roughly. She lets out a small noise from the back of her throat, like a wounded animal, which is pretty much exactly what she is. I can only imagine that all the cameras are on us now - the last person in the tough Career-killer's life is the beauty with no apparent skill that she isn't exactly best buds with.

Well, that's not going to happen. Lilly's dying, and I want her to die among friends.

I'm in a panic - running my hands through my long wavy hair, chewing my bottom lip and blinking my eyes rapidly - but my movements feel slow, as if I'm underwater. Somehow, everything seems simple, sad and clear. Like a lonely river that's never seen a human or an animal, and yet, always has the sun on its back and the clearest water around.

I go to Moss first - he's the one who's closest to Lilly, and she is closest to him. They're practically brother and sister.

"Wake up!" I say, my voice scratchy. I clear my throat and try again. "Moss!" I frown, and I whack him on the head.

He sits up, startled, and his hands grapple on the ground next to him for his sword. I push it out of his reach, though, as his face winces and his back aches from the sudden movement.

"It's just me," I hiss, feeling more normal just by looking at him. His startled blue eyes look up straight into my green ones, and I try to convey my worry through our eye contact.

"Lilly's . . ." I start softly, but I can't seem to get out the word: _dying_. It's such a common word here in the arena, and yet, it's so difficult to say out loud.

Moss stares at me a moment longer, and then reaches in with his strong arms to pull me in for a hug. I'm surprised and end up squished uncomfortably to his chest, my arms pinned to my sides. He hugs me tightly for a second, and then shoves me away. I almost faceplant, but regain my balance after stumbling.

"Wake the others," he says in a husky voice, and turns away - but not before I see the feelings of pain, hurt, and loss in his eyes. I was right - Lilly is practically like the brother from home he talks of so fondly.

I stride over to where Araucaria and Nella are sleeping, underneath a low-hanging branch. They're close together, but not quite touching; I smile at the sight of them. There's some sort of energy in the air around them, like they really enjoy each other's company and they care for each other. It's nice to see two people - two teenagers in the Games - like that.

I push aside the branch and duck in to their little alcove, kicking both of them awake. Araucaria looks disgruntled at the rude awakening, but one look at my face and I think he knows something's up. All I do it point outside and they're both up in a flash.

As I stroll out behind them, I consider waking Aleah, but there's no point. She's already up and smirking at the crowd gathered around Lilly, standing a few paces off. I can't help but think that she doesn't know what was going on - sure, she's a bitch, but not only is Lilly_dying_, she's essential to our battle plan.

Aleah spots me and subtly shifts closer, as if I wouldn't notice the shuffling of her feet. She's been following me like a shadow ever since she arrived. Okay, actually, she's not _that_ bad . . . but still. It irks me: I like my alone time, and I don't like hovering around girls. It's awkward, and I always say the wrong thing.

Although, Aleah is different. I can actually stand her - and communicate with her without sounding like an idiot. She's a tomboy and she's insulting - like my guy friends. Sure, boys use their fists and not their words (unlike Aleah), but her insults slide right off my back. I can fight a guy, and I can deflect a girl - I've lived with my perfect sister Cleo all my life, after all. In a way, they're not much different.

Maybe in another life, Aleah and I could actually be friends.

"Are they all Lilly's lapdogs, or something? It seems that every time she breaks a nail, everyone has to faun over her," she snorts.

Okay, scratch that. She's too much of a bitch.

"She didn't break a nail," I say quietly, frowning. My eyebrows crease together, crinkling. "She's . . . she's dying."

A flash of something - regret? Annoyance? Remorse? - passes over Aleah's face, but it's replaced with a sneer so quickly I'm not even sure I saw it in the first place.

In an offhand manner, she says "Looks like we lost the bait for our trap." I punch her in the arm and shoot her a sharp glare. How could she be so insensitive?

Disgusted, I stomp forward towards Araucaria and Moss, who are kneeling over Lilly. Nella is standing a bit further away, flipping nervously through a tattered old book. Why the hell did she bring a book into the arena?

Moss is quiet, but his expression is desperate as he tries to shake Lilly awake and get her to drink water. I notice the pool soaking through the bandages around her abdomen; bandages we had replaced right before settling in for the nap. She's shaking more violently now, but she's managed to open her eyes just a fraction.

"I think she's dying of an infection, and severe blood loss," Araucaria says in a low voice, and I admire him for finding the courage to keep it steady. He runs his hands through his hair, and it sticks up in little fluffy tufts here and there. "I could have done something," he says so quietly that I almost miss it. "I could have - I could have saved her, back when she was hurt. This is my fault." His expression is dejected - and guilty.

"She would've died anyway," Aleah yells over at us, but no-one moves to acknowledge her. She has a point, though: Lilly's injury can't have been Araucaria's fault. He did the best he could - it just wasn't enough.

In one swift move, Araucaria turns and leaves. He stands next to Nella, avoiding looking at Lilly on the ground and instead keeping his weary eyes on Aleah.

I sit down beside Moss and start pulling up the grass in huge handfuls of dirt and green. That's how I feel right now: like something is pulling chunks of me apart.

Moss is talking to Lilly in a low, soft voice, coaxing her to get better. He tries to feed her a piece of dried fruit, but her crackled lips can barely part. There are tears running down Moss's cheeks now. I know I should offer consoling words or something, but the truth is I'm not good with that sort of stuff.

"You've been a great ally, Lilly," I whisper, touching her curled-up hand gently, "even though we've had our fights." I think she hears me. "You're going to a better place now, I'm sure - you can see your sister again. Remember, the one with the name that started with a C? Christie, or something?"

"Chloe," she rasps out, and the sound of her broken voice almost sends the waterworks running down my cheeks. I swallow, but notice the small smile that has now crossed Lilly's face.

"Right," I say. "You'll see Chloe again." My voice gains strength. "You can tell her all about your accomplishments, and what life is - was - like without her. You can tell her how you exacted revenge on the D-One girl, too." Why am I finding it so easy to talk to a dying person?

"Just . . . remember us when you get to that . . . that better place. We were all rooting for you, Lilly. Just know that." I slowly uncurl her fingers, before taking my hand away. "Just close your eyes - come morning, you'll be safe and sound."

Her chest seems as if it deflates - like a balloon. But she's still alive; still hanging on, if just barely. She's a real fighter, and I admire her for that.

I leave her alone with Moss, who is taking her death the worst of all of us. Well, not really. He's hardly accepting the fact that she's dying. "You'll be okay," he says in a choked voice, tears running tracks down his skin. "Just - just drink some water, Lil. You're like a sister to me, you know that? You can't just go. Here, some food will make you better. How 'bout I change your bandages? There are some - there are some more over here-"

I can't bear to watch Moss's grieving - it's too painful. He really is losing a sibling. I feel my mouth wobble and the corners of my eyes turn down - I'm crying. Hastily, I push myself outside of our little campsite and walk a little ways into the forest blindly.

I know I'm in the Hunger Games, but there's no way to prepare for seeing the death of someone you know. I don't recognize this feeling of mourning - it scares me. Lilly's imminent death scares me. It's just proof that no one here is safe.

Is it all really worth it? Sure, if you win, you keep your life - but on the inside, your soul is dead. The horror is way more real when you're in the actual arena, rather than watching it on a TV screen. Does anyone ever really come out of these Games alive?

I'm startled by a mournful, echoing, and terrifying sound - a cannon boom. I turn and sprint back to the campsite.

Lilly Cross, the female District 11 tribute, is dead.

Moss is now in a panic. He's shaking her crumpled (yes, that is unfortunately the best way to describe it) body violently, still trying to feed her the piece of dried fruit. "Have some water, too," he gasps as if he's short of breath.

I can't do anything but stand still. Araucaria, too, seems to be in a trance of horror, guilt still marring his features.

It's Aleah who finally steps in after a few long minutes of Moss trying to revive Lilly. He doesn't understand - doesn't _accept_ - her death. Moss is in shock . . . we all are. But Aleah has kept a cool head, and she now roughly pushes Moss away from Lilly's body.

The hovercraft appears instantaneously. It reaches down and picks Lilly up gently, her body hanging limp and her hair trailing behind her as she is lifted up. She's then taken in to the hovercraft . . . and she disappears forever.

Everyone is silent. Aleah smirks. Moss cries. Nella looks at her feet awkwardly. Araucaria still looks guilty. And me? I just stand there, taking it all in.

We've officially lost a member of our alliance.

"Soooo anyway," Aleah's voice sounds like nails on a chalkboard, cutting through the thick silence, "I have a new plan. Since we've lost our bait," she looks disgustedly at the spot where Lilly lay a few moments ago, "we need someone new to volunteer for position as Career bait. I, of course, being the wonderfully horrible person I am, will take up that position. Hyre watched me threaten his precious little bitch, Onyx, and saw me as I carved my initials into her back. He'll see me, and he'll want to kill me. With any luck, the other Careers will follow," her grin turns snake-like.

"How can you even _think_ about that right now?" I stutter, looking aghast. "We just - we just lost an ally! Can't you at least give us _five minutes _to mourn and grieve?"

Aleah levels her gaze at me. "Look, Blondie," she finally says after a long pause. "These are the Hunger Games. You hesitate, you lose your chance, and you die. Mourning isn't going to make the loss easier to bear. You need to ignore it."

I snort. "Says the wise shaman."

"Watch the sarcasm, moron," she retorts. "I'm the one who knows where the weapons are hidden. Without them, you're just a pretty face."

I subconsciously run my hand over my cheek, blinking at her. A movement catches my eye: Moss. He's gotten up from his crouching position on the ground, and the tears are gone. Instead, there's a new gleam to his eye: an angry gleam.

"I agree with Aleah," he says in a dead voice, and I'm so startled I take a step back. "Let's go kill some Careers."

_Up and down, up and down_

_I will lead them up and down_

_I am feared in field and town_

_Goblin, lead them up and down_

I grumble discontentedly as I follow Aleah through the darkening forest. She's taking me to the special spot where she had hid the weapons - and my double axe. The rest of my alliance, recovered from shock and thirsting for a way to let their anger out (that last one would only be Moss), is back at the campsite packing things up and preparing to ambush the Careers. The plan is that they'll hide in the trees and ambush them from above, while Aleah captures the attention of the Careers and leads them to the spot. If all goes well, I'm to head back to where the others are with the extra weapons Aleah's hidden.

My stomach gets queasy as I think about killing - but if it's the only way to save myself and my friends . . . well, let's just say the arena is _not _a place to have morals.

My mind flickers briefly to Lilly, but I push the thoughts back. She's a problem I'm not quiet yet ready to deal with. I need to concentrate here. Aleah is stomping through the forest a few paces ahead of me, yelling back at me every now and then and saying things like "If you don't hurry up your fat ass, Blondie, we won't get there until next year!" I resent the nickname, but never comment on her insults.

She leads me through the forest for a while, going in what seems to me like a random direction – but as much as I hate to admit it, Aleah knows what she's doing. I scowl at her back as we trudge along and the light from the sky dims, being replaced by the moon and stars. I don't know if they're real stars, but they're in the same patterns as back home.

_Home. _It seems like just a dream now.

I'm startled as Aleah and I stumble into a clearing. Well, not a very _clear_clearing – there are dark grey tombstones standing in sharp relief against the plain ground, casting long, creeping shadows. As I trudge past the first one, I notice with a start that it's got a name on it: _Maia Spring, District 8._

Okay, that's creepy.

I continue marching on, hardly watching where I'm going as the tombstones pass my eyes. Nothing is inscribed on them except for the name of the tribute, and their district: _Sapphire Tree. Rena Sage. Onyx Marshall._ I recognize them all as tributes that are already dead.

A shudder passes through me, and I walk into a gravestone. Stumbling back, my eyes widen in horror as I read the name: _Moss Dorian_. But Moss isn't . . . he isn't . . .

That's when I look past his tomb and notice some of the others. _Aleah. Nella. Roy._All people I _know _to be alive. There must just be graves for every tribute. The question is . . . are they buried here after they die? Last I checked, their bodies were sent back to their districts . . . _right_?

Aleah stands over by her tombstone, impatiently glaring at me as my eyes fall of the most horrifying grave of them all:_Aella Dekas._ Oh, God. I really didn't need to see that.

Trembling, I take careful steps towards Aleah. She smirks, and says "Cool down, wimp. You're not buried there. Yet."

I bare my teeth at her, but she doesn't notice because she leans down to her grave. It seems as if the earth around it has been dug up. She sifts around in it a little, before pulling a sword out of the ground, its sharp blade glimmering wickedly in the moonlight.

"So you hid all the weapons . . . here? Under your grave?" I ask. She just grins at me in response, and it's a snake-like, unpleasant smile.

A few more weapons come springing up out of the ground, being laid expertly aside by Aleah. There are all kinds of things – knives, spears, even a bow. But what I'm anxiously hoping for is my battle axe.

And although I know it is a bit sadistic, by face can't help but break into a smile when she finally unearths the dirty but deadly weapon from the ground.

I'm not longer a sitting duck.

The shaft is made of some kind of black Capitol metal, and the blades themselves gleam wickedly. They are silver, with no special designs or embellishments. The axe is a bit heavy for me, but in a way, it's good – the momentum of the heavy blade can be fatal when swung in the right direction.

I pick it up, wrapping my hands tightly around the shaft, but stop short when I feel the cool of another blade pressed against my throat. Looking up, I see Aleah standing over me, a shadowy look on her face.

"I can't have you offing me right here and now," she grumbles, as if she's just figured out that I now actually have a chance of fighting with her. The knife she's holding is steady, and she regards it coolly as she says "so I'll have to keep you under my watchful eye, Blondie, to make sure you don't stab me in the back now that you don't need me."

"Um, hello?" I say, in the "dumbass" voice I usually reserve for my older sister Cleo. "I do kind of need you, moron. Without you, there's no bait."

She eyes me for a second, leery, but then lowers the knife a fraction of an inch. "Fine. But no fancy moves."

"Whatever," I roll my eyes, and neglect to thank her for retrieving my blade. It's not like my thanks will melt her ugly heart of stone, anyway.

She re-buries the weapons we no longer need, but hands me a spear, a sword, and a knife. "Bring these back to your little friends," Aleah sneers. "You guys will need good weapons if we're to have any chance at besting the Careers."

"Thanks . . .?" I say, raising one eyebrow. Aleah turns away, looking at the dead and burned hedges that block her way to the Cornucopia. "I'll see you back in the clearing, okay?" I grumble. She nods and then takes off running without even glancing at me.

I sigh, blow a stray strand of blonde hair out of my eyes, pick up the weapons – God, these things are heavy – and then take off. I'm a fast runner, which is good – it means I'll get to the Cornucopia faster than Aleah and the Careers.

My breath feels like it's rattling in my lungs. It's so likely one of us will die – the question is, who? What if my battle axe ends up being a worse weapon than I thought? What if I'm no match for the Careers, and they kill me before I can put up a decent fight?

I'm in the clearing sooner than I want to be. It's just a simple place picked out for our attack. Our bags and supplies are hidden in a hollow tree trunk nearby, but the essentials – some food, iodine pills, and bandages – are safely tucked away in the various pockets of my fellow allies. I don't see them, hiding in the nearby trees, but they see me come into the clearing – and Moss is the first to jump down.

He's got his sword already, but I hold out the other weapons with open arms. Nella and Araucaria jump down, taking a sword and a spear respectively. Even if they don't want to kill (Nella doesn't really seem like the type), they've got to be armed. Just in case.

Moss takes the extra knife, tucking it into his belt for emergencies. I smile at him, trying to garner a reaction, but his face his dead. Something snapped in him when Lilly died, I'm sure of it. All he wants is to let his anger out – and that can be very, very dangerous in an arena where we're supposed to be killing each other.

We hear distant shouts coming from the direction of the Cornucopia, so we all scramble back up into the trees. I notice Nella and Araucaria sharing the same tree, while Moss stays on the lowest branch he can possibly find that's still safe. He's awfully eager. I just slink a little further away and climb up a thin sapling that doesn't offer much protection but is easy to leap out of.

The double axe feels heavy in my hands, and I can feel my palms sweating as I wipe the hair out of my eyes. My breath comes in slow, but loud, breaths, and my chest heaves with fright.

And all of a sudden, with no warning, she's there. Aleah bursts in to the clearing, glances around momentarily, and then climbs up into the nearest tree. Moments later Hyre – the District 2 Career – is right below Moss's tree, panting heavily and holding a sword tightly in his hands. He starts shouting angrily – he can't see Aleah and now he's lost his prey – but the angry words are cut off as Moss leaps down from the tree.

My hands shake as I watch the two of them go at it without a moment's hesitation. Both of them have trained, that much is obvious. They're both awfully good, and I'm afraid Moss will get hurt. Hyre's just about to harm my ally when Aleah jumps down and runs at Hyre as well, joining in the fray.

From where I'm still crouched in my tree, I can see Araucaria whispering quietly to Nella. She then flits off, leaping to another tree, and I know what's going on. They're going to look for Roy. They know the Career pack leader can't be far behind – and if he is, then he's probably got some nasty trick up his sleeve. Nella's probably going to scout out to see if there are any other Careers – or tributes – nearby as well.

I take my eyes off the battle as I jump out of my tree, landing hard on my side with an _oof._Not the most graceful of landings, I know, but at least I didn't break anything.

When I make it to the clearing, I can barely see Moss's back disappearing through the trees. Hyre – or Aleah – must've taken off. The chase is on.

I sprint after them. I may be fast, but the undergrowth slows me down a bit. Still, I'm close enough to hear Moss shouting at nothing – he's lost the other two. Using my amazing tracking skills (just kidding, I'm hopeless) I decided to turn and sprint in the other direction.

It was a good – and bad – choice. Aleah comes barrelling at me, and I manage to sidestep just before she runs into me. But then she keeps going, and I turn and see that Hyre's chasing her.

That's when I realize that I'm now the only thing between the Career and his prey.

Joy.

Hyre sees me, and with a strangely remorseful look in his eyes, he takes a swing with his sword. But I'm fast enough to beat him – my double axe comes up in front of my body, protecting me, and the blade of the sword glances off it with a shriek of metal.

He swings again, and this time, I knock the weapon out of his hands. Although I'm in a life-and-death situation here, I can't help up laugh at the surprised expression on his face.

I swing the deadly blade at his head, but it just barely misses him as he reaches down to pick up his sword. My axe blade lodges itself in the tree beside me, and with horror I realized it's in too deep for me to get out quickly. Time for Plan B, which is simply . . .

Whipping around and punching Hyre right in the face as he stands back up.

Blood spurts from his nose and I feel a _crack_under my fist. Huh. Looks like all those wrestling matches with Flynn and Pascal have really payed off.

Now he's angry, though.

He takes another swing at me, and this time, in order to avoid it, I have to stumble backwards. Losing my balance, I go crashing to the forest floor, landing hard on my poor butt. Leaves tangle in my hair and I taste dirt in my mouth as I roll over, avoiding the stab of the sword.

I can't quite place the look on Hyre's face as I scrambling further backwards, scratching my hands on rough tree root bark. He looks like he doesn't want to kill, but at the same time, he has to. Like . . . like he doesn't want to be the monster all Careers are made out to be.

He's still trying to stab me with his sword, though, so I'm taking no pity on him.

I finally get my footing and push myself up from the ground, intending to run away. But this time, the deadly weapon _does_connect with my body – the sharp edge of the metallic blade catches me right on my left hip, scraping deeply along the skin and bone.

I don't yell or scream in pain, like I always thought I would once I got hurt. Instead, I lose all breath and go tumbling to the ground again, hardly able to breathe. I feel like I can't move – like every muscle has stopped functioning. The wound on my hip is throbbing, and I grind my teeth together. I can feel the delayed scream of pain coming up now like vomit.

I don't even have the energy to turn and watch as Hyre plunges his sword into my back.

But he doesn't.

Instead, I hear two very similar grunts of effort, and then the _thud_ of a body falling beside mine. _Stop being a drama queen,_I think to myself, _and get back on your damn feet. Lilly's wound was worse, and _she _kept going._

The sad thing is that my inner voice is right.

I groan, pushing myself up from the ground. I can feel blood dribbling down the outside of my right leg, but I ignore the pulsing. It feels like my hip has its own heartbeat.

The body that fell beside me was Hyre's – but he's not dead, not by a long shot. No, it just turns out Aleah has come back around and is now attacking him herself. Who would've known she would save my life?

Just kidding. She probably doesn't give a rat's ass about me – she just wanted to hurt Hyre.

I stumble back to the tree that my axe is still sticking out of, and grab the handle. Using all the strength I can afford to spare, I yank it out, almost toppling over and losing my balance. Somehow I manage to straighten up, and I resolve to go help Aleah.

I turn towards her and Hyre, who are engaged in a full-out battle that somehow seems way more epic than the one I had. Still, I charge in with no regards to anyone's safety, and swipe with the axe.

Somehow I manage to make a connection with flesh.

It scrapes across Hyre's left forearm, leaving a long gash. It's not nearly as deep as the wound on my hip, but it's long and jagged. I pull the battle axe towards me, trying to regain control of the weapon – its heavy momentum can get out of control easily – but it costs me too much time. Hyre's sword scrapes across my cheek, from the outside corner of my right eye down through the tip of my mouth and across my chin.

This time, I scream and press my hand to my face. Blood is already seeping out of the wound, staining my fingers. It's not a mere scratch – from what I can feel, it's a deep, gaping, jagged line that will scar my face. Permanently.

There go my "good looks."

Someone pushes me. I can't tell if it's by accident, but I fall to the forest floor. By the time I manage to open my eyes again and spit the blood from my mouth, Hyre and Aleah are gone.

I feel numb. I can no longer feel the wound on my face, and it scares me. I try poking it, but I don't feel anything. The blood is flowing heavily, though, and I know I need help. Fast.

I take off in a random direction, looking for Araucaria, or Moss, or Nella, or even Aleah. _Someone._God, I hope no one's died yet, but I feel so disoriented that I wouldn't hear the cannon even if it went off right in my ear.

I run along a forest path, between trees that bear no traces of human attack. _Great job, Blondie,_I think, _you've gone and gotten yourself lost._

That's when I run straight into something – or someone. I go tumbling to the ground, and the someone – it's most definitely a person, I realize – holds a sword to my throat. _This is it, _I think, unable to look into the face of my attacker. _This is how it's going to end._

When I do open my eyes, though, the only things I'm able to register are the flames lapping at the trees around me. The smell of smoke and the scorching heat are the same as they were during the Bloodbath.

The forest is on fire.

Three guesses as to who set it ablaze . . .

And somehow, I'm not dead yet.


	52. Je t'aime

**Is it just me...or is everyone in the arena this year going off the deep end? I wonder...**

**Next update should be Tuesday! Hope you like this and Tryouts ends the 14th at 11:59PM EST**

**And thank you to the amazing nightfuries who composed the list of the dead (how they died in order of their deaths). Make sure to thank her for being so kind to help us out!**

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><p><strong>ht tp: /foru m. ****fanfiction.n e t/ forum/ Bring_Them_To_Their_Knees/109174/ Remove the spaces for Quarter Quell Try-outs!**

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><p><strong>Roy Rousseau, District 1<strong>

**By Isabugg**

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><p>"<em>There is something burning in my heart,<br>__Spreading like a forest fire.  
><em>_It engulfs my body and my mind,  
><em>_Taking over me, it burns me alive.  
><em>_This fire is burning ever so hot  
><em>_All the time._

_If I ever try to put the fire out,  
><em>_I know I could not,  
><em>_For my heart is in too deep to be wrought  
><em>_From its fiery pit which it burns aloft.  
><em>_This fire burns me now  
><em>_All the time._

_The fire does not hurt as it burns my flesh.  
><em>_In fact, I enjoy it as I burn.  
><em>_For this fire is not fire,  
><em>_But this fire is love,  
><em>_And with love I burn  
><em>_All the time."_

—Alex Fischer

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><p>Tonight, we float across an empty sky.<p>

It's so painfully bare, so harrowingly hollow and desolate, its blackness only interrupted by the synthetic stars blipping in shining spirals around the moon. They seem sharp, like shards of glass encasing us in this arena. Periodically, a tree will cut off part of its expanse from my vision, its angular branches whipping viciously in the direction of the wind like mangled limbs reaching for the night sky, grasping only at the empty air.

The empty sky.

My empty Skye.

I remember standing at the edge of the graveyard, my boots sinking into the powdery dirt and curls of my hair tousling across my hairline in the direction of the biting breeze, going completely numb, feeling the marrow of my bones turn into ice and the muscles in my stomach gnarl into enmeshed shambles the moment my eyes caught...her.

It was as if my blood had been replaced with arctic water. It was as if that arctic water was riddled with cutting slivers of ice, scraping themselves through my veins and leaving me bleeding and crippled from the inside. I must have been violently shaking because I also remember Claus insistently trying to pull me away by my wrist and widening his eyes once his fingers made contact with mine.

Skye's golden hair was easily seen, even from a distance, glinting with a sort of glossy sheen as she stumbled her way through the graveyard, ankle-deep in loose, dusty dirt. Her limbs bent in ways that made me feel sick, as if her joints had stiffened beyond repair in death, leaving her to warp and contort them as she brushed pass the gravestones, looking like a clutter of bowed and hooked body parts. Her pale skin seemed to have lost all color, leaving it ashen, her plump lips a dull shade of purple and her veins dark and enflamed, pulsing visibly at the sides of her throat. Her arena clothing was still torn where she had been attacked, leaving it to spill in tatters near her side, revealing dried, shriveled skin wreathing away from a pinkish-gray gash, dried blood dotted around it in uneven splotches.

...And she was still beautiful.

But so empty.

Cold air, pins and needles prick my lungs. It lashes against me, scouring its teeth across my skin until it sends surges of aching tingles through my bones.

I have asked myself, even interrogated myself in the dead of night, feeling numb and hollow as I stared at the empty sky, what made Skye stand out so much that she seemed like a blazing string of illumination in my otherwise black-as-pitch life. Sure, she was pretty, but other girls were pretty. She was kind, but other girls were kind.

But her—and only her—eyes were able to pierce right through my defenses. She understood me, smiled when I smiled, frowned when I frowned, laughed when I needed to hear the light, trilling sound of it the most. While the rest of humanity was corrupt—callused from where the world repeatedly struck at them, heart withered until it was a fraction of the size it was—she was preserved, innocence in its most potent form, and yet, she still decided to associate herself with me. A criminal. A villain. An insane pyromaniac.

While everyone else would look at my scars with disgust, eyes squinting and lips tightening, Skye looked at them as if they were merely painted on, an adornment on my being instead of a constant reminder of the misdeeds I had done. She had grazed her fingers lightly against my forearms, her faint touch spiraling against the scar tissue, and it sent shivers up my spine, heat flooding into my face.

Now, as I am stabbed by the persistent memory of her body laying in crumples in the graveyard, her golden hair caked with dirt and black mutt blood, I have never felt so cold in my life.

Even with these towering flames crackling by my side, the countless bottles of lighter fluid bundled together in my stuffed pockets, the struck match held limply between my fingers, I have never felt so cold in my life.

The fire roars in front of me, its heat slithering against my skin and its harsh light flickering sharply across the panes and angles of the trees and brush around it. It makes briskly moving shadows shudder and spasm across the treetops, their spindly branches frantically shaking as if they were trying to escape the flames licking toward them in smoldering bursts.

I hear the fluttering sound of wings whipping against the air and see clutters of birds slashing away from where they were perched, their salient caws cleaving my eardrums like hammers as they scatter into the black sky. Smoke writhes upward in sickly coils, making the mountain air thick with soot, burning as it slithers through my airways.

I blink against the fire's exhaust, the rims of my eyes stinging from it, and cough into the crook of my elbow as I turn away from the wall of flames and continue to sloppily splash lighter fluid across the rough bark of tree trunks and the kinked gnarls of leaves twisting around them.

There is something so melancholy about looking at the stars when they're drowning in wriggling clouds of smoke, when they're framed by the flailing tips of flames.

As I ram the bottle of lighter fluid back into my pocket, feeling some of the clear liquid slosh across my palms, my eyes catch a flash of blonde hair from behind the leafy thickets, and my knees almost buckle at the sight of it—how each strand seemed to be soft as silk and strung with gold as it tumbled downward in glossy curls, catching each possible trace of light and making itself radiant, even in the gloom of night.

I can already feel my mouth starting to form her name: "_Sk—"_

And then the word dies in my throat, my heart plunging to the pit of my stomach as I see the face that splash of yellow hair framed—a face with a pointed chin, an upturned nose, a wound on which clumps of blood is already congealing. A face that is not Skye's.

The wall of fire flaring behind me seems to act just as I feel as it erupts, white-hot splinters of the wood it had consumed slashing through the air and spattering against my back. They feel like small needle pricks before they cool and fall to the ground, crumbling into ash.

I crane my neck to see that the fire had spread in all directions while I was distracted, its reds and yellows blackening everything it touched, making the trees sway helplessly as chunks of their once sturdy wood hurtle downward and smack against the dirt. The flames from those chunks scatter in thin, fiery lines, devouring each patch of grass and entanglement of vines it could slither toward.

Usually, this would be the point where I snap out of my daze, the point where I would feel myself crash back into reality, staring at the inferno I had caused and refusing to believe that I had anything to do with it.

But as I gaze at the fire's hot, flickering luster through half-lidded eyes, its flames lighting everything around it with a sort of scorching, orange-tinted gleam, like glowing embers, I feel absolutely...nothing.

No fright, no panic, no regret, no disbelief. Nothing. Just emptiness whirling in my ribcage in freezing, haunting billows.

The soles of my boots begin to melt from the heat, making it more difficult to shuffle through the dirt as I turn my head around and rake my eyes toward the girl with the blonde hair again. Her eyes are muddled with fear, her thin eyebrows furrowed until the strip of skin between them is sternly pinched. The long, bloody gash across her cheek shines in the gleam of the flames, the clotted blood a sickly shade of maroon, and the hand she has wrapped around the shaft of her double-bladed axe is trembling. Shaky breaths tear their way through her full lips, her chest frenziedly rising and falling with each of them.

With nauseating suddenness, a figure appears behind the blonde girl's severely shaken form, looming in the shadows. I see brown hair wreathing in the breeze, sea-green District 4 eyes, thin trails of stubble lining his chiseled jaw, and a name pops into my mind: Moss. The one who left the Careers before the games even began.

He darts forward, wrapping his muscle-twined arm around the blonde girl's shoulders before pressing the blade of his sword to her throat, and she lets out a horrorstruck gasp, tilting her chin upward and making the cold sweat collecting at her collarbone glint in the fire's gleam. She swallows, and her neck visibly bulges, her pulse thudding against the blade.

It takes a moment for Moss to register who she is—her golden locks, the feel of her willowy frame against his chest—and when he does, he lets out a strained breath, his air forming one word:_ "Aella." _He immediately releases her, his eyes wide and his lips already forming a frantic apology.

The blonde girl—Aella—furiously whirls herself around, a small nick from Moss' sword apparent at the center of her throat, already welling thin globs of blood. _"Moss?" _she snaps, her voice thick with exasperation, "Why did you—"

"OhmygodIam_so_sorryIdidn'tknowitwasyouI_swear," _Moss blurts out in a single huff, the words spilling out of his mouth in frantic bundles. He directs his gaze to the slice on her cheek, then tentatively lowers it to the cut on her neck, and his expression slowly sobers—the tense line of his mouth becoming slack and his dark fringe of eyelashes lowering in front of his jade-colored irises, casting thin shadows across the brim of his cheeks.

"...You're hurt," he whispers in a soft undertone, "I hurt you."

I see him carefully raise a hand toward Aella before lightly trailing the pads of his fingers over the hollow of her cheek, moving with such slowness that it seems as if he is holding his breath. His hand dips down the side of her neck, grazing the soft curves of her jawline before landing just above the small snip on her gullet, his eyes downcast and his arms trembling. "I _hurt_ you."

I feel myself smirk as I watch Aella's features contort with worry, her plump lips tautening and the bow of her shoulders tensing. She parts her lips, probably to say something like, _Don't worry about it_, or _Stop being such a drama queen, _but she is cut off when I intentionally rustle the leaves around me and step into their clearing.

"Look at _you_, Moss," I chuckle, and his head whirls in my direction so swiftly and sharply that it's a wonder how it didn't break his neck. The gentle, affectionate look he had been giving Aella quickly flares into a look of hatred once his grassy eyes lock on me, and I respond with a jeering wink. "Hurting your own allies, I see. Maybe being a Career really _is_ in your blood."

He snarls like an animal, his eyes darkening as he brushes past Aella and pushes her small figure behind him, taking her out of my view. How valiant.

I slip my hand into my pocket, using the gloom of the night to discreetly uncap a flask of lighter fluid before I shoot him a ridiculing smile, as sharp and cutting as glass, and the muscles in my cheeks almost instantly hurt from it. "You were looking for me, yes? You...Anti-Careers, you call it? Cute."

The grip Moss has on his sword gradually tightens until his knuckles are a shade of yellow-white, the tendons in the underside of his wrist angrily jutting out.

I make sure to not let my smile waver as I keep my cat-like eyes locked on his. "You used Hyre's grief against him. Threw him a bone by showing him Aleah, open for the slaughter." I'm careful to be subtle as I slink the lighter fluid out of my pocket, my other hand instinctively reaching for the matches in my belt. "And after luring him out, you knew Elia and I would follow." My voice is dreary and bleak, like the grim melody of a caged bird as it longingly titters toward the open sky. "And after that, you were going to pick us off. One-by-one."

I straighten my spine, and I can't help but hear the sound of my fire erupting again from behind me, shooting through the foliage I had stepped out of and making my shadow briskly streak forward in its light. Moss' eyes widen at the inferno as it bursts into the clearing, wriggling around my feet and making the very tips of my hair glow with a crimson shade of red, almost as bright as the flames themselves.

I widen my grin, feeling my lips tremble from the strain of it as the fire swiftly spreads around us, leaping across the trees and making their tall, grand trunks moan as they gradually blacken, cracking down the middle and sending bright sparks swirling through the air.

"That's a good plan. Really," I slur, casually walking toward them, the thick, stinging scent of smoke starting to linger, "It's too bad that you're too _dull_ to tell the difference between me and Blondie over there."

I see the bridge of Moss' nose crinkle, and I ready myself for him to attack, only to instead see Aella quickly snatching her axe from where it was embedded in the ground and dart around him. My eyebrows rise in surprise as she rushes toward me, her expression hard and stoney as she raises her weapon above her head and crashes it downward in a blinding, pelting arc.

It catches me off-guard, and I just barely sidestep out of the way in time to save my head from being hacked off, the blade of the axe raking a lengthy, bloody groove down my arm. I hiss out a string of curses, feeling my blood pulse out of the wound in thick, gluey streaks.

The pain is searing, stabbing up my arm and ending at my shoulder with a burning intensity, leaving my arm to hang motionlessly at my side. Gritting my teeth, I quickly shake the limb back to life, drops of blood flitting from it and flying to the dirt like red rain.

My arm feels a thousand pounds heavier than it did before, but I still manage to place my thumb on the mouth of the bottle of lighter fluid I had been clutching, leaving a small opening before I shift it forward and splatter it across Aella's side, the acidic, pungent scent of it immediately welling water in my eyes.

She barely has time to react, to wipe some of the clear droplets out of the ends of her yellow hair, before I strike a match and toss it in her direction. I hear Moss let out an animalistic sound of terror, and he darts toward her, but not before the match hits its flammable target and bursts into flames.

A bloodcurdling scream comes from the very back of Aella's throat before Moss throws his arena jacket off his shoulders with blinding quickness and slaps it across the flames, suffering burns himself as he uses his bare hands to put them out. The fire doesn't do any severe damage, but still leaves Aella's skin muddled with spirals of reddish-pink where the fire had licked up her left flank and shoulder, the burns enflamed and shining with a sickly gleam from behind the burnt scraps of her arena clothing.

Moss turns to me, his features severely contorted with rage, and he slashes his sword at me with a brisk scissoring movement, leaving me to have to stumble backward to narrowly dodge it. Aella's stifled, shaky sobs are evident in the background, and it seems to fuel Moss' deranged fury as he continues to lash his sword in my direction, making gashes across my collarbone and cheeks and I continue to clumsily evade him.

I hear a low creaking sound, like the moans of rusted machinery. My eyes widen, but before I have time to prepare myself, a massive tree wavers at my side and crashes downward with a deafening roar, showering me in bright sparks after its charcoaled surface slams against the forest floor and bursts into red-hot cinders.

I shield my eyes with my arms, leaving me uncomfortably disoriented as I feel the hot tendrils of fire fiendishly lash out at me, licking across my scars, burning what has already been burnt. My vision is obstructed by the black material of my arena jacket, leaving me in a starless world made up of only the stinging scent of smoke and the terrible, nauseating stench of charred flesh.

The muscles in my stomach tangle and my gullet contracts until waves of sickening, throbbing agony quake through my veins, leaving me trembling and coughing as I force myself to turn in a random direction and stumble away. I bring my arms down, squinting against the thick layers of smoke and feeling clouds of ash sweep across my skin. The low sound of Moss' voice is just barely audible through the crackle of the flames around me, lingering in the distance.

Everything is a blackish-gray, the once clear air now whirling in visible, foul helixes of exhaust. It squirms its way into my lungs, and I have to choke it out, my throat chafed and stinging as I am gradually withered into a mound of shivering limbs, crawling on my hands and knees, gagging and shaking.

I had expected to feel dirt on my palms, the moistness of mud gushing through my fingers, but instead, I land on a porous pillow of ash, staining my skin with soot and condensing the air until it seems almost congealed as it wriggles through my airways. My eyes sting, water collecting on the raw rims of them, and I sternly shut them against the smog, leaving me in the darkness once again.

With throttling suddenness, a rough hand snarls its way into my collar and I feel myself being hauled upward, making my head reel as I'm swiftly dragged away. My limbs weakly twitch as I struggle against it, but I'm unable to put up a fight as the heels of my shoes drag across the ground, leaving angular trails in the thick piles of ash beneath me.

The hand releases me, and before I can even hit the ground, an axe rips through the air and slams into my side with barbarous force. My eyes enlarge and my vision blurs, a raspy gasp seething through my throat in a single gurgling wheeze, and for a moment I hang there, motionless as the metal of the axe's blade is left hinged inside my flesh, the metal of it searing from the fire, leaving blistering, paralyzing quivers of hot, harrowing pain to pulse through my ribcage as it slowly slides away, slicing and tearing through me as it goes.

My mouth is gaping, a silent scream pouring through my lips as I weakly claw at the dirt, a vain attempt to get away. The air is cleaner here, making it so that the layers of smoke are translucent rather than completely blinding, and I shakily snake my gaze upward until my eyes lock on a freckled face, smeared with soot. A boy, arms corded with lean muscles and hair slicked backward with sweat, his light eyes icy and his mouth pressed tightly into a scowl.

A girl looms behind him, her slender arms crossed tightly in front of her chest and her dark hair cascading in loose waves over her shoulders. Her full lips are tautened into a pleased smirk, her azure eyes bright as they slide over my crippled form. "Hit him again," she orders, her voice joyful and her cheeks flushed, as if the blood spurting from my wounds entertained her. "Don't kill him yet. Make him suffer."

The boy with the axe stiffens. "Aleah—"

"_Now_," she stresses, her spine straightening as she visibly steels herself, "Or do you forget how much..._power_ I have over you, Araucaria?"

He winces at the word _power, _as if it insults him, but he dutifully raises his axe above his head without further question, pelting it downward and making it scrape roughly across my torso, deep enough to make blood spill in spindly streaks, but still leaving me breathing and living, writhing in nauseating torment at his feet.

Low groans slither their way through my throat, and even though I clamp my lips against them, they still spew their way into the air. My arena clothing is soaked through with blood, shining with a gross, wet sheen, and I am shaking so violently that it's a struggle to even lift my hands to my eyes and see the ichor slicked thickly across my palms, collecting in their centers and trickling down my wrists in red, gluey rays.

The girl steps forward, her stance held upright and proud as she brushes past Araucaria. "Hello, Pyro," she trills, her voice so venomous that it makes me blanch. "Looks like you trapped us all in your little fire. Including yourself. Your intelligence is _astounding._"

I swallow hard, feeling trails of blood slither down my throat and stain my tongue with its sickening tinge of rustiness, making me cough until my already sore throat feels scratched and enflamed. "A-Aleah Armani," I rasp, my voice hoarse. I struggle to smirk, imagining how beaten I must have looked—teeth stained red, skin blotched with soot, wounds so deep that it was torturous to even move. I sharply exhale, thin droplets of blood flitting out of my mouth as I slowly bring myself into a sitting position, the slash across my chest searing as I sloppily wipe away the dirt and gore smeared across my chin with the back of my hand. "I _knew_ the Anti-Careers weren't smart enough to come up with this plan on their own."

Aleah crinkles her thin eyebrows together, her blue eyes incredulous as she slowly walks closer to my crooked frame. "You've heard of me, I see," she lilts, the corner of her mouth twirling upward, "Not that I'm surprised. Gossiping is the only thing you District 1 dolts are good at." Her eyebrows twitch upward. "That and being distracted by shiny things. _'Ooh, diamonds!'"_

I let out a slight chuckle, the sound dark and croaky. "Wow. Clever. It's a damn shame you chose the Anti-Careers instead of us." I grit my teeth against the pain, struggling to soak my tone in sarcasm as I widen my smirk at her. "The Careers needed some extra hands. Little weasel ones like yours would've been perfect."

She scoffs, shrugging off my insult as if she hadn't heard it at all. "Please. I didn't _choose_ anyone," she states with utmost certainty, as if it was just simple fact. She's only a couple feet in front of me, and she kneels so that she's at my eye-level, her icy eyes fluttering across my features. "I'm doing this simply for my own benefit."

"And how exactly is getting yourself involved in the mess between us and the Anti-Careers beneficial to you?" I ask, the sentence coming out more strained and rickety than I had hoped. "Wouldn't it be smarter to just let us kill each other off?" My voice dilutes in the air, trailing away into silence as I mischievously arch my eyebrow at her. "Or is the famous Aleah Armani losing it, just like everyone else in this _wonderful_ arena?"

"Even I like a thrill sometimes," she smiles, her teeth as sharp and cutting as razors, "And, I do admit, you dish out a good thrill, Pyro."

I give her a smile just as poisonous. "Yes, I do rank that highly in my rather lengthy list of desirable traits," I mumble, my breaths heavy, "Right under my good looks and stunning ballroom dancing skills."

Skepticism lines Aleah's features, the corners of her full mouth capering quizzically downward. "Wh—"

Before she can finish, I tightly grip a bottle of lighter fluid in a rigid fist before smashing it on the ground, the shards cutting deep into my palm before I briskly whip a sliver of it upwards and rake it across Aleah's cheek.

She bolts to her feet with stunning speed, slapping a hand to her fresh cut and glaring at me with eyes so hard and hostile that it's a wonder how she's still able to see.

I take the opportunity to struggle to my feet, my head lurching and my vision dotted with blotches of color as the pain from my wounds sears through my bones. I feel blood curdling against my skin, making the heat of the fire around me unbearable. I thrash my jacket off before throwing it on top of the shattered remains of the bottle of lighter fluid.

Araucaria rushes toward me, axe raised ominously toward the smoke-stained sky. I ferociously fumble with my box of matches, my newly torn palm making it difficult to strike one of the flammable sticks. Once the match flicks to life between my fingers, I drop it onto my arena jacket, and the pile of blood-soaked material immediately bursts into flames, the smell pungent and metallic and sickly.

Araucaria harshly halts, but not before the flames flog toward him and scourge his arm, leaving him to suck in a pained breath. His eyebrows viciously furrow as he directs his attention to the reddened welts whirling across his skin, and before he can even look up again, a blur of deep scarlet hair rushes around me with such speed and grace that I can't help but stare—Elia.

Following her are two figures hardened with rage, one with a glossy mane of blonde hair and the other with sea-green eyes, deep enough to drown in—Aella and Moss.

Elia wheels herself around before throwing a couple knives in their direction, her aim so precise that the duo has to weave to their sides with all their might in order to avoid the blades.

Hyre abruptly bursts through the foliage behind Elia, his sword tipped with blood and his usually composed features twisted with a mixture of grief and fury.

"Oh, now it's a party," Aleah grins crookedly from my side, making Hyre viciously rip his gaze toward her. Before he even has a chance to begin to raise his weapon, she shoots him a ridiculing wink and darts away, leaping over a burning branch before it erupts into a violent twister of fire.

I see Araucaria quickly scan the faces in the area, his eyes blank with terror. He mumbles one word to himself—_"Nella"—_before turning and following Aleah into the fiery brush.

Hyre hisses out a string of curses at Aleah's retreating form, his dark eyes pained and his grip on the hilt of his sword so tight that his knuckles stand out with a bright shade of yellow-white against his soot-covered skin. He makes a move to follow her, but Aella catches him by the shoulder before he has a chance to, swinging her double-bladed axe with resolve, her curls of golden hair swishing in front of her shoulder blades.

Hyre quickly plunges downward before the axe can make contact with him, swinging his sword at Aella's knees, only to have his blow blocked by Moss.

Obviously fighting her instinct to protect her ally, Elia swallows hard and darts toward me, her lips harshly pursed and her collarbone damp with cold sweat. "God, Roy, _look_ at you," she whispers, using one of her throwing knives to frantically tear fabric away from the hem of her shirt before pressing the bundle of material against the slice on my chest. "It's okay. You're going to be fine. Just work with me." Her eyes are steady as she locks them on mine. "I need you to run away, let Hyre and I handle this, and I'll come back and take care of your wounds and—"

"Shhh..." I exhale softly, letting my eyes droop as I take in Elia's image. I never noticed before, but she's...quite pretty, even when her red hair is snarled with dirt, her temples caked with soot and blood. The way her pale green eyes look as they reflect the fire around us reminds me of someone, someone who had always had that fire in her eyes even when she was in the Training Center mumbling "flesh, bone, and blood" to herself.

Involuntarily, the corners of my mouth turn upward into a weak smile. "_Skye_," I hiccup, and water rims my eyes. I couldn't even feel shame anymore; I let the tears flit down my cheeks. I let them leave trails of wet in the ash staining my skin, my shoulders trembling as I remembered the sweet sound of _her_ voice, the soft pink of _her_ cheeks, the feeling of _her_ hair as it slid between my fingers...

"Roy, _listen_ to me," Elia stresses, her expression wild as she cranes her neck toward the battle behind her. I catch the threatening sight of Moss stepping toward us, his brown locks of hair spilling into his eyes in a way that almost makes him look menacing, but Hyre smoothly glides in front of him before the District 4 male can even get close, and their swords collide with a grating, tearing noise.

Elia brings her gaze back to me, and she moves the wad of cloth away from my chest and pushes it into my hand. "Run. I need you to _run._ You're in no condition to fight, you would only get in the way—"

I steady myself by grabbing onto the trunk of a tree, the shards of glass still wriggling in my palm and leaving droplets of red to drip from my fingers. The blood loss is making me dizzy, making my vision blur and my head pound with a stinging, thrumming sort of pain. I cast my gaze away from Elia to the blazing fire I had made with my jacket earlier, the blood from my arena clothing somehow making the flames seem redder, more sinister.

My cat-like eyes slink back toward Elia, and I smirk at her, a dark, evil smirk, and I can feel a rush of blood spurt through my teeth. "Of course," I croak, "I'm hopeless, after all."

She gives me a look flooded with incredulity, her eyebrows furrowing and her eyes squinting, and as I let myself study it, my stance turns weak and crooked.

"Thank you," I say on an exhale, my voice a soft, barely audible undertone, "May the bridges I burn light the way."

And then, without thinking, before Elia can even think of stopping me, I bolt away from her and throw myself into my own flames.

The heat is immediate; it laps against my skin, sizzles the blood dripping down my sides, plants soft, deadly kisses across my jawline. I had expected to scream, to feel a pain so unimaginably potent and extraordinary that my last memories would consist of nothing but pure agony, but instead I felt...at peace.

In all my years, in all the incidents I have had with fire, I have never experienced a burn so strong and terrible and—beautiful.

My hair immediately sears away, my skin melting, and I'm pushed far beyond the barrier of pain. I can't _feel_ anything. Instead, I'm floating—I'm floating beyond everyone else, beyond Elia screaming my name, beyond Hyre staring wide-eyed at what was once my body, beyond Aella gasping and Moss pulling her trembling frame closer into the warmth of his chest.

I've lived through life regretting everything I've done. This—diving into my fiery creation, finally getting rid of my presence in the world—is the one thing I am completely and utterly sure about. The one thing I don't regret.

_I carry you with me  
><em>_Into the world,  
><em>_Into the blinding smoke,  
><em>_And the words that dance between darkened crowds...__  
><em>

I know I'm already blinded—the fire liquifying my eyes and burning me into an unrecognizable mass of flesh before the life even begins to leave my charred body—but I can still see one image perfectly clear in my mind.

It's beautiful, completely beautiful, and for the first time in what felt like ten eternities, it wasn't empty. My heart wasn't empty. It was filled to the rim with emotion, and if the muscles in my face still worked, I would be smiling.

Skye. My beautiful, beautiful Skye.

_And, for me,  
><em>_It will always be this way:_

_Walking into the light,  
>Whispering, "Je t'aime,"<br>__Remembering being alive together._

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><p><strong>Thank you to the AMAZING nightfuries who made this list for me to give to all of you. Make sure to thank her!<strong>

Sapphire Tree, District 9 Female: knife stabbed into throat by Hyre Fletching

Relk Stein, District 6 Male: spear thrust into stomach by himself

Vaughn Shumway, District 11 Male: spear to the chest by Boston Williams

Skye Azurite, District 1 Female: knife stabbed into stomach by Lilly Cross

Maia Spring, District 8 Female: dagger flung into back by Aleah Armani

Clude Miller, District 12 Male: knife thrown into stomach by Onyx Marshal

Onyx Marshal, District 2 Female: knife stabbed into stomach by Hyre Fletching/herself. Counted as Hyre Fletching's kill.

Rena Sage, District 6 Female: knife to the head by Elia Zervakos

Mack Tully, District 3 Male: torn apart with knife by Claus Hendall

Tara Tremain, District 12 Female: sword through chest, hammer to head by Boston Williams

Oak Loaker, District 8 Male: suffocated by Boston Williams

Boston Williams, District 10 Male: trident to the chest by Elia Zervakos

Lilly Cross, District 11 Female: died from infection of wound given to her by Skye Azurite

Roy Rousseau, District 1 Male: died from stepping into fire set by himself, could count as killed by Aspen Checkov

**Summary of tributes still alive:**

District 1 – None

District 2 – Hyre Fletching

District 3 – Jules Surket

District 4 – Elia Zervakos, Moss Dorian

District 5 – Claus Hendall, Aella Dekas

District 6 – none

District 7 – Aspen Chekhov, Nella Burchalyn

District 8 – none

District 9 – Ari Locus

District 10 – Aleah Armani

District 11 – none

District 12 - none


	53. The Love We Lost

**Things are starting to get emotional. *wipes away tear***

**If you haven't sent in your applications yet for the Quarter Quell, well...WHAT ARE YOU DOING MY GOD GET OVER THERE NOW **

**Seriously, they close May 14th at 11:59pm! Ticktockticktock.**

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><p><em>ht tp: /foru m. fanfiction.n e t/ forum/ Bring_Them_To_Their_Knees/109174/ _

Remove the spaces and find yourself in a magic forum of...magic...

Okay, just apply if you know what's good for you. c;

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><p><strong>Aspen Chekhov, District 7<strong>

**By Phoenix Refrain**

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><p><em>"Why is it that words like these seem dull and cold? Is it because there is no word tender enough to be your name?"<em>

― James Joyce, _The Dead_

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><p>In life there are paths. Each route we choose, each decision whether made flippantly or with time and dedication takes us closer to some inevitable fate. Maybe we live an entire lifetime, only to be defined in one single moment. Maybe nothing else matters if you do the right thing in that moment…Maybe that moments saves you, or maybe it dooms you. Or maybe it does both.<p>

There is no question, though, that my entire lifetime, all eighteen years, have come down to this. One moment that decides everything, one solitary moment that makes anything else you've ever done pointless. One moment to determine your entire life…Just a moment. And with every breath I take, I can feel it drawing nearer.

I've always believed in fate, so I can't help but think it's why I'm here. I made the choice, but maybe it was always supposed to be me. Maybe that was the defining moment in my life, and I just didn't know it yet. Maybe I'll never know it.

I know that even if I make it out of here, I'll never be the same. I've watched how revenge can destroy. I watch it eat Lilly up. I know it was infection that killed her, but a part of me knows that it was also the rage…the revenge. It left her empty and hollow, and then it took her. I had done everything I knew to save her—I dragged her from flames, I walked all night, and still it wasn't enough.

For the first time I realize that maybe friendship isn't enough, that even love might not be enough in this place. All you can do is what you can live with. No outside forces can save you. There is no transforming light in this dark place. There is nothing outside of this arena. It's like all the rest of the world has perished, and I am absolutely alone except for those that walk beside me.

Was it only last night that I laid there with Nella in my arms? Was it only last night that I held on to her knowing that this would probably be the only time I ever held her like that?

_I can still feel the heat of her body in chill of the night. I can feel the loud pacing of her heart as my hand brushes along her neck. I see the dewy lashes that show she's crying. I feel all the pain threatening to crush me again as she lays in my arms where words have forsaken us. What do we dare say?_

_'I miss you' comes to mind. 'I wish we weren't here' is another option. 'I hate the world that does this to us' is a better choice. But instead, the words that come to my lips placed against her ears: "I think I could have loved you."_

_Maple eyes float to mine as she turns to face me. Her lips aren't far from mine, I can feel the heat of her mouth and the movement of her lips; they're so close. A crystalline tear falls down as the whisper catches my ear and my heart: "I think you should love me now." Her lips touch mine gently, and her eyes close. "Some people get a lifetime to love, maybe this night is our lifetime—maybe this is all the time we have. Maybe we should just…stop thinking."_

_My lips find her again, and I hold her close as I feel that heat spread through my body. I can't help but feel the sands of time running short for one of us—for both of us, maybe. I don't regret coming here. I can't regret any pain these games are causing when I'm lying with her in my arms, even if it is bittersweet. _

_Maybe we're only allowed to be happy for a little while._

_We'll never have a family. We'll never grow old together. And even if one of us somehow wins, neither of us will leave this arena—it will go with us wherever we are as a constant reminder of the love we lost and left behind. _

_We share kisses and heat. We share our misery and our love. I hold on to her, each feverish minute slipping by like a dream that's going to end too soon. But at some point we pass into sleep that has nightmares mirroring reality so closely, it's like being awake. And in all of my nightmares, I'm losing Nella._

We trudge along with Aleah, the first person we found in the morning. When the fire started and Roy's flames once again licked around me, I reacted. I grabbed Nella's hand and ran as the forest enveloped in flames and seared our skin as we outran it.

Aleah was a little worse for wear, but not by much when we found her. We sensed her a moment before she showed up, or—I hesitate to think what would have happened if we hadn't realized she was there. I called for her to show herself and she walked in…but it's been uneasy.

We both know this isn't going to last long. There's not that many of us left and we have no loyalties to her—no loyalties at all when she held Nella hostage. But there are two of us against her, but she's skilled and vicious. I've seen her kill—something I've avoided so far. This is just…borrowed time.

We move through the trees, my hand bumping along with Nella's until our fingers finally intertwine. The shadows are long and day is quiet. We haven't seen Moss or Aella or anyone else for that matter. I can't help but imagine that Nella and I are alone and these are our woods—that somehow, in a different life, we found each other after the Reaping. I can see our children with us. I can see us happy, even if we are poor, walking through the woods of our home.

But none of that is real, except in her journal.

But this, what is happening now, is real.

I push Nella forward and turn with my axe, raised just barely, blocking the blow of Aleah's knife. I kick her hard in the stomach to thrust her backwards. "Run, Nella! I'll catch up!"

She struggles to her feet, still weaponless from last night. "No, I won't leave you."

I say the one thing that will make her leave, because she doesn't want me to get hurt. "Go! I can't focus with you here. I can't do this when I'm worrying about you. I'll find you, I promise." She gives me one last look before she takes off running, and I feel my heart sinking because I want to be running with her, but Aleah is getting up.

"Didn't want me to use your little girlfriend against you?" The knife is in her hands, her knuckles white with gripping it. "Doesn't matter, I'll find her when I'm done with you."

I lunge towards her swinging up. The axe splits open her arm and the blood falls down in crimson drops to splatter the ground like rain or tears. She hisses at me and attacks with fury. Her lips curl back as she attacks. I'm barely able to dodge her swing. I can feel the wound on my shoulder opening up again and bleeding out. My shirt is once again stained with fresh blood.

We clash together again, her curved blades cutting into the axe handle—barely missing my fingers. Each assault a knick on blade, wood, or skin. She's so fierce, so fiery and angry, that it drives her without reserve. But I fight her, I fight for every inch and every moment of air because I'm not ready to give up on going home.

Aleah swings at my legs and I jump above the blade and kick her in the stomach. There's a loud oomph as she expels her air and falls to the ground. I land flatly on my back, and lunge for her, bringing my axe down at her breathless body. But she's too quick; she rolls to the side and swings opening a gash on my leg as she struggles to her feet.

We're circling again, like wild beasts ready to kill and feast. How far have I come to be like this? How far have I fallen? How many has she slayed in her lust to get here? How many will I have to kill if I survive this encounter to go home? I'm battling a beast that is not only willing to kill, but hungry for blood—maybe even without mercy. Yet, I know somewhere inside of me that I can kill her, I _can_ go home.

We clash again, and I push her back. We circle and slice and cut. Her blade slays open the flesh on my chest while my axe draws a crimson line across her flat stomach. The blood seeps from our wounds, our clothes stained as we circle again.

"Come on, what's the matter…getting tired?" Aleah spits at me.

There goes that mouth of hers again. "Just waiting on you, Aleah. _Ladies_ first."

She launches at me violently, a biting sting opening up a slash on my check as I stumble a step backwards. When she comes at me again, I do something unexpected. My hand drops down, my fingers close the small knife in my waist band. I stop her arm from descending down on me as I punch the blade into her collarbone, barely missing my target of her neck. She screams in fury and I pushed her back, her hand going up to her shoulder, and trying to staunch the fresh flow of blood.

"What would your brother say about how you fight, _Araucaria_?"

It hits me like a punch in the stomach, temporarily winding me. I could kill her, and with her dying breath she could destroy my reason for living. She could make it so that even if I won, I'd still lose—my secret, the one she knows, gave her that power over me.

She doesn't move as she glares up at me, her cat-like eyes processing what I'm doing or maybe why I'm doing it. I know she probably thinks that I would attack her after she baited me, but I don't. It's always been going to end like this, wasn't it? It was always futile. Their love was not enough to bring me home, love wasn't enough—at least not their love.

If I killed her, how could I be sure that she wouldn't tell in her dying breathe? Then it would not just mean my life, but theirs…it would mean Nella's too because she knows. What are my options?

The wound in my shoulder keeps opening, keeps bleeding again and again…What if this is the start of a slow painful death like Lilly's? What if I had to cry out in the night, begging for someone to kill me? What if those shouts brought the rest of the pack down on Nella? I'd still die.

Maybe, after all, it was better this way.

I throw down my axe in front of her, and she scrambles to her feet. "What are you doing? Trying to trick me?" she spits out, and I think I can almost hear a hiss from her lips. "Think I won't kill you unarmed? I'll do it anyways." She steps forward cautiously, sensing a trap.

"Do it," my voice is stronger than I thought it could be as I drop down to my knees. I love them. I love them that much. I've accepted that my life would end here, accepted that I might die—but never like this. I thought I would go out with a blaze of glory or pain, not calmly like this. It's a different kind of bravery for this, and it's only because of how much I love them that I can remain so calm. "Do it, Aleah." I pause delicately. "I ask one thing of you."

"You have no right to ask me anything." I can still see the confusion in her eyes, the wary way she approaches me.

I continue on, ignoring her. "It stays between us, Aleah. When I die…it's all just…over." I can see the dawning comprehension in her eyes, I can see that she understands that I mean for her to never tell that I pretended to be my brother. I feel the tears stinging in my own eyes, I hope he'll forgive me for this. I hope, in time, he'll understand that I'm saving him by not fighting anymore; it's the hardest thing I'll have ever done. It is the defining moment in my life.

It weighs on me so suddenly, everything is so clear here at the end. It's not their love that was ever meant to save me, my love is the thing that will save them. This is the right choice—they will be safe and sound. They will live on. They may never forgive me, but they will understand. They'll never know the story fully, but as my eyes look up, I will that a camera is looking into my face. I pray that my family, most of all my Araucaria, is watching. I want them to know how desperately I love them—enough to die for them. It doesn't matter that they won't know I'm saving them, that's not the point. The point is, they are _alive._

Aleah looks at me strangely, but she's not afraid or wary anymore as she approaches. Her hand is soft as she lifts my chin up and looks down into my eyes, "I've never loved anyone that much." There's almost a look of regret in her eyes.

"Don't make my family suffer, please." I beg. I can endure the pain, but I don't want them to watch me die for hours, I don't want to have to hold my tongue and pretend I'm not in pain to make their living easier.

She walks around me, and I feel her hand tilt my chin back as she presses the blade to my throat. She doesn't draw it across, she doesn't move, and I almost imagine that her hands are shaking. Her voice is so soft, almost kind, "I won't hurt Nella."

Even if it's a lie, it's a kind one. But it feels truthful. "Thank you." I breathe it out as the blade is drawn across my throat. It cuts deep, and I feel lightheaded as the sting of pain starts to fade away. I can feel my skin growing paler, my body weaker as my heart pumps blood out of my body instead of in it. Heavily, I fall to the ground, my face falling to the side and my eyes alighting on the green ribbon knotted around my wrist. Nella gave that to me the night before the Games, and if I cannot see her face, it helps at least to see the only thing she's given me besides her heart.

_I do love her. I do, there's no could have been about it._

It doesn't hurt that badly. I'm afraid though, but much less afraid knowing they're going to be okay. The rest I can deal with. I hear the soft crunches of Aleah's footsteps as she walks off in the opposite direction than what Nella took off in. She told the truth, it registers dimly.

My body is shaking more violently as I look toward the future—to a life where I have a nephew or neice, a life where Ashe and Acacia are truly happy. A life where Nella finds someone else to love and make her whole, the pain of my loss faded away. I don't want her to forget me, but I almost wish she could—then it wouldn't hurt so bad.

I want to speak, I want to tell my family that I'm okay. I want to let them know it doesn't hurt so bad, but words fail me. I am voiceless as the bloodloss makes my eyes heavy. It's then that I remember my first reaping.

Acacia and Ashe were so scared for us, so terrified that we'd get picked.

I remember walking to the reaping…

_Ashe's hand was folded in my clutching on to me as if I was life itself. "How will I know you're fine? That you're not scared?"_

_I had considered for a moment. "I'll put my fist to my heart and tap it. Letting you know, I'm safe that I'm fine…that I'm still your brother."_

"_You promise?"_

"_I promise."_

I try with the last dregs of strength in my body. I drag my hand from my side, up my stomach to my chest. It feels so heavy, and my eyes keep flickering shut and it's almost too much to fight the darkness. But I promised her. I promised her…

With all of the strength left in my body, I make a fist and tap it to my heart three times.

I am safe. I'm fine. I'm still your brother.


	54. The Moment Has Ended

**A/N:** Hey guys! The end is getting closer! Get ready for a little bit of a unique insight on the 19th. Think that some strange things have been happening? That maybe these Games have been left alone for the most part by the Gamemakers? Think again. May 19th the Gamemakers will have their say. XD

Quell Try-outs end on May 14 11:59 PM EST

Answers/responses to review are coming soon. Bells and I are-well, let's leave it at "in poor shape". Enjoy this while I crawl back into bed. Later this evening/at latest tomorrow will be a oneshot. (We use to do them on Thursday but now we're updating on Thursday too so we're trying to spread it out a little!)

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><p><strong>Pen's AN:**Hey guys, I hope you enjoy the chapter but just for a reference the banned song from District 7 was written by Nina (Phoenix Refrain) and is from her amazing story Johanna Mason: Burning Day. I do not at all own that song. Besides, I could never write anything that brilliant! I only added it because I thought it was a great representation of Aspen's character and Nella reflects on that in this chapter.

Also I want to just inform you all that due to many different…situations popping up into my life at the moment I'll be taking a break from Fanfiction for as long as it takes for me to get better. Things have turned down the wrong path and I need to fix them. I always had these problems but continued to shun them away and it's just made it worse. I want to thank you all for your support. Especially the 24 authors who have become a family to me. I love all of you! I will still be notified about chapters and will be very excited to read them as they come, as well as I will hear about your lovely chats on the forums and will receive all PM's just, won't answer them. I'll surely miss you all, but there is one individual I want to thank from the bottom of my heart. That person is Nina.

Nina, you've been such an inspiration and an amazing person to write with. You truly have touched my life and I will never forget all of the wisdom you brought into my life. With every situation you've been strong and that's something I deeply admire. You've always been there for each and every one of us authors through thick and thin. You write with such passion that I hope to feel one day. You are truly a remarkable human being. I'll miss you all and although I had plenty of ideas for characters for the Quarter Quell, I just… can't find the inspiration to write anymore. I hope that will change and writing will become my saving-grace like it used to be. I hope to see you all again when things get better. Hopefully with time things will get better and I'll be healed. It could be as short as a month or as long as years. We'll see.

Lots of love,

-Pen/Ali/Baby

P.S. I'll miss you as well Rose.

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><p><em>Skies are crying, I am watching<em>

_Catching tear drops in my hands_

_Only silence as it's ending_

_Like we never had a chance_

_Do you have to make me feel like_

_There's nothing left of me?_

_You can take everything I have_

_You can break everything I am_

_Like I'm made of glass_

_Like I'm made of paper_

_-Demi Lovat; Skyscraper_

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><p>Nella Burchalyn of District Seven<p>

Written by Penmysword

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><p>"<em>I think I could've loved you."<em>

_His warm breath slightly tickles my ear as his lips move closer towards me. His smooth, tender lips find themselves on the side of my head comforting me but all I can think about is the fact that he 'could've loved' me. He does love me, I know it. He's the only person that I am completely positive has ever loved me. He needs to forget about what could've been because that's never going to happen. Just because fate has taken us here, doesn't mean we don't deserve the chance to be happy._

_A small tear slowly falls down Aspens face, leaving behind a wet streamline as I tell him, "I think you should love me now."_

_We don't hesitate and slowly lean in closer his warm lips touching mine and his smooth hands protectively cupping my cheeks. Never had I ever felt so much love in a simple gesture as I did in this one._

_Some people get a lifetime to love, maybe this night is our lifetime—maybe this is all the time we have. Maybe we should just…stop thinking."_

_Instead of nodding my head, I lean in again with a desperate addiction to feel his love again. Gracefully we kiss again and again. All I can wish for is that we'd be stuck in this moment forever and never have to let go of it._

The emotions and events of only a few days ago replay in my mind, longing for the feeling again. My nerves are squeezed and tension runs high throughout me as I worry for Aspen. I know he is strong enough, but Aleah is something else. She honestly doesn't seem human to me. How could someone be as cruel as her without even one weak-point? I open my journal shakily, trying to find a new page and forget about the others filled with my old life. I attempt to write about anything that my mind can capture a full grasp of. I try a journal entry, a story a poem—anything.

But I just can't. Every thought that enters my mind is quickly pushed away by the constant fear nagging inside my body of Aspen death.

I remember every touch.

I remember every breath.

I remember every whisper.

I remember every kiss.

I remember all of the good times and the many bad to follow.

I remember our life and dream about what could've been.

But that's all I can do.

My mind can't form coherent sentences like it used to. The fear of Aspen's death takes over me and I can't get it out of my mind.

My breath stifles before coming out in desperate heaves of air. My face is puddled with tears still streaming down my face and my head is sullenly dropped into my lap.

I can't grasp the feeling of being so far away from him. People always said that in your heart you know when you love someone, or that a heart-brake is worse than a physical injury. I never really believed them. I knew you could have feelings for someone, but your heart is just another organ that keeps your body running, how could it get hurt from your feelings? But lately, my reasoning has dissolved from my mind; you really do feel things in your heart. Aspen at risk, battling Aleah leaves me with a growing worry and uncertainty. It leaves a tugging at my heart. That's right; at my heart. My breath is rigid and my stomach woozy, but all of those sickening feelings emanate towards my chest, right where my heart is. Yes, the heart is another organ that keeps your body running, but love also keeps you running. Without my love, uncertain of what his destiny will be after tonight, I feel unable to speak, walk, move, or even live. I feel plain helpless.

_**BOOM!**_

I hear a loud cannon fire and immediately my head shoots up from out of my lap, worry wide spread across my face. Within seconds a hovercraft materializes out of thin air before zooming to a near part of the arena, the part where Aleah and Aspen were fighting. Inattentively, a small strangled whimper wretches out of my throat and I'm on my feet dashing through the forest.

Loose branches scratch my face and obstacles trip me but I'm still going as fast as my feet will take me. Tears are heavily drawn out of my face, hoping with everything that it's Aleah who's dead and Aspen is waiting there pleasantly for me. The dark night sky and the blur of my tears create a difficult time for me, but I try my best to get to Aspen. I pick up the pace while wiping the tears from my face while I see the hovercraft ahead of me. I come to an abrupt stop, panting and a glimmer of hope rises, only to quickly die and fade as the thought of Aspen dead arises in me. The ground is wind-swept and as I look up, I see a body frozen in the materialization of the hovercraft's beam.

Desperately trying to see who it is I move out into the clearing under the hovercraft, only to get a glimpse of the dead body.

My lips fail at the thought of his name.

I see his strong, loving body and faintly see his warm, soft and sweet face before it's lifted into the hovercraft and gone forever. Gone. Forever. It sinks in, and my knees become shaky and weak, I can no longer feel my limbs, my head uncontrollably shakes and strains itself and my vision is a blur wet from my tears. With no control over myself anymore, I've fallen to the ground.

"NO! A-" I break off into heavy sobs. I can't even call him by his name in death...I can't even grieve for him openly.

Everything hurts—no, everything kills. I whimper through wretched sobs as Aspen's death begins to sink deeper and deeper into me. What's going to happen now? How can I live when the one person I love is dead?

I remember every touch.

I remember every breath.

I remember every whisper.

I remember every kiss.

I remember all of the good times and the many bad to follow.

I remember our life and dream about what could've been.

The memories of the past slowly dawn on me and taunt me with the memories of being safe in his arms. Now there are no arms to keep me safe anymore. His body will arrive back in District 7 shortly in a plain wooden box. I close my eyes and pray that they keep the casket closed. I know that the harsh mangled form Aleah has put Aspen in would terrify Ashe. Then a familiar song comes to mind. One in which was banned in District 7. I hadn't even known about it until the games when I would occasionally overhear him humming the tune or reciting the words as if the song was comfort for him. Though I had never really memorized it, somehow at this moment the lyrics float into my mind and stay there.

_I'll come back to you_

_My promise rings true_

_This isn't how it was meant to be_

_Not in a box to bury me_

_The day they came_

_Who'd believe they call my name?_

_A token, a lock of your hair_

_Something of you, to take with me there_

_I'll come back to you_

_My promise rings true_

_This isn't how it was meant to be_

_Not in a box to bury me_

_Eyes to the sky_

_Life flashing by_

_Scenes of "could have been"_

_But all dreams must end_

_I kept my promise true_

_I'll come back to you_

_This isn't how it was meant to be_

_Not in a box to bury me_.

Although it may not be the happiest song, it is absolutely beautiful, mainly because it reminds me of Aspen. The song plays so beautifully in my head and now that he's dead it seems as if he wanted me to hear it at this time and through all grief I give a small smile. Before even a camera could pounce onto my expression it's swept away by the reminder that Aspen is dead. I will never see him again and he's gone forever.

The anthem of Panem mournfully begins to play and I know that Aspen's face will be up in the sky within a few seconds. I take in this moment with a large breath and exhale with tears and sobs. I never wanted to be in this place, looking up at his face. I can't do it, I tell myself. But the picture of Aspen's mangled body remains firm in my mind and it tortures me within. I decide I don't want the last time I ever see Aspen is to be in that form, so painfully I move my hands away from my eyes and shakily look up.

His glowing face is happy and alive with a bursting smile. I lightly smile remembering the love we share and nod to myself as a tear falls down my cheek, knowing I made the right decision to look up. I prefer to have this last picture of him in my head rather than the one of him dead and demised hovering in the frozen beam of the hovercraft.

But within seconds his face fades from the sky and the good memories fade with him and I realize I truly am left with nothing. Even if I tried there's no way I could pick up the pieces. Where would I even start? I break down again, with the shakes, tears and whimpering. All I can think of is how could I let him die? I lie in fetal position, letting the flow of emotions gather high and then run threw me with all the memories in my head replaying themselves, especially the one where he told me to run. I can't help but regret his judgement. I should've stayed at the fight; maybe it would've been better with the two of us? Maybe we could've killed Aleah? Mixed feelings of love, hurt, regret, remorse, animosity and every other heavy emotion pound through me.

What hurts the most is that he's never been my Aspen. He was never the Aspen that I feel in love with, never the Aspen that flattered the capitol crowd, never the Aspen who sacrificed his life for me, or never the Aspen that died. He was Araucaria and will always be Araucaria. That's what hurt the most. That he couldn't even die himself.

My sobs slow down and I know cameras must be on me, or maybe tributes are being drawn in by my fit, but I don't care. They can come and kill me now; I have nothing to live for. I crouch in a smaller ball, hoping to feel more protected by my own body heat, but it's useless.

"I'm sorry Ashe." I softly cry out. "I'm so, so, sorry."


	55. Ghosts

**There has been a change with these next chapters. Even our authors don't know the full extent of what's in store for them. (: Enjoy! **

**They're officially called the "packet" chapters. Each author was sent a PM with their tributes fate and their chapter. Communication with each other was monitored-so when you see this chapter, most of the other authors haven't seen it either. And believe me...something...is coming...**

**Also MAJOR apologies. I (Phoenix) am a bit behind on work (reading over applications, doing reviews, etc). Today is the first time in...five days that I've been able to eat something other than apples or crackers I've been so sick. So sorry, I haven't been so responsive. Bells is in test hell and is a walking zombie.**

**The other apology is that in the proofreading for the previous chapter there was a HUGE goof. She does NOT reveal the real Aspen. I'm fixing to go change that-with the stress of this week it was an error. His family...is fine, for the most part. Anyways-go look, it's fine! Sorry for the freak out!**

** My one shot on the home situation will either be up late this afternoon or on Tuesday so look for that. And here's a chapter I meant to post yesterday as a one shot for one of our lovely departed-Boston.**

**Quarter Quells are almost at a close!**

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><p><em>"'Here are ghosts in Winterfell,' <em>he thought, '_and I am one of them.'"_

—Theon Greyjoy,_ A Dance with Dragons_

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><p><strong>Hyre Fletching, District 2<strong>

**By FalconFlight**

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><p>I have won the twenty-fourth Hunger Games, and I am on the Victory Tour. Panem is a blur outside the window of the train as we speed toward our next district. I do some quick calculating on my fingers and determine that we are heading toward District 9. For some reason, the notion stirs something inside my stomach, but I ignore it. As the train pulls into the worn-down station, though, the acid in my gut is still there.<p>

The train comes to a stop and I stand up. Suddenly, the train completely disappears and I am on a rickety wooden stage. The crowd in front of me consists of undefined features and unrecognizable faces. The face of the girl closest to the stage unexpectedly begins to morph. Her appearance slowly becomes more distinct, and all I can do is stare. Brown hair sprouts from her pale skull like a weed, and child-like green eyes become chiseled into her features.

"Sapphire." Her name cracks from my mouth in horror as blood begins to stain her throat. She doesn't seem to be affected by the blood streaking down her body; I can't even see a visible wound. Blood just keeps gushing from her neck. Her arm randomly falls off, and blood starts spurting from there as well.

Then, she starts walking towards me. Panic seizes my chest, and I take an involuntary step backwards. I trip over nothing and fall to the ground. Sapphire climbs on the stage carrying the hilt of a sword in her hands. As she approaches me wearing a half-insane grin, a bloody blade grows from the sword she is holding. She raises her weapon high and swings it down, aiming straight for my neck.

"Hyre!"

I wake with a start. The nightmare fades in an instant, but I can still see the glint of the raised sword as my eyes blink rapidly to adjust to the sunlight streaming into the tent. Elia sits across from me; concern is clearly painted on her features.

"Are you okay?" Elia asks. "You were moving a lot in your sleep."

_No, _I think bitterly, _I am not okay. I am being chased by ghosts into my nightmares. My guilty conscience follows me into my sleep and forces me to remember that which I want to forget the most. _Those thoughts are too private to share with my ally, though.

"I had a bad dream," I mutter dismissively, propping myself up.

"You too?" Elia asks, and I remember that I am not the only one plagued by ghosts. We are going through the same ordeal; the only difference is while Elia is trying to push through them and return to her husband, I have succumbed to the whispers of guilt. I have given up.

"I think everyone left has had nightmares by now," I reply. I push myself to my knees and crawl toward my backpack.

Elia nods. "I wonder if Alex has to deal with them."

I unzip my backpack a pull out a silver locket. I hold it up and stare as the sunlight catches on the cold metal. It glints in the light, and for a second, I can see Onyx's face staring back at me in the locket. It is only for a second, though, and I quickly smother the locket in the dark material of my backpack. I decide not to wear it today; I don't need to deal with anymore ghosts.

"Every Victor probably does." _And the rest of us die feeling guilty._

"Are we moving out today?" Elia asks, changing the subject.

I nod as I begin to pack up my sleeping bag. We have been camped out here in the forest since Roy's death and I since have become the "leader". We have been treating our wounds and resting up so we can be prepared for another confrontation. I have lost track of how many of us are left, but there surely can't be that many. This is all coming to an end soon.

"_The Games are going to change you."_

For some reason, it is my mentor's voice I hear as Elia and I exit the tent. Malcolm's words from my last night in the Capitol come flooding back to me as Elia and I begin to disassemble the tent. He had told me a way to remain sane when the remorse begins to corrupt your brain. Perhaps it is a little too late now, but I suppose it won't hurt to try it.

_My name is Hyre Fletching. I was born and raised in District 2. My parents hate me. My twin brother, Jaime, also hates me. I originally wanted to volunteer for the Hunger Games to die and make Dad sorry for neglecting me for so long. Then, I decided to volunteer to prove him wrong and show him that I am capable of accomplishing something._

I shove the canvas tent into my backpack and zip it up again. I can feel Elia watching me as I sling the pack over my shoulder, and I gesture for us to start walking.

_Then, after murdering my district partner, Onyx Marshall, whom I kissed out of fear that I would die without kissing a girl, and Sapphire, an innocent girl from District 9, I changed my mind. Now, eight days into the Hunger Games and two days after becoming "leader" of the Career alliance, I want to die again._

I stop walking suddenly. Elia nearly bumps into me but stops just before we collide. "Has it really been eight days?"

Elia blinks and stares at me. "Yes…" she answers slowly.

"It feels like an eternity has passed," I admit.

Elia nods. "I know what you mean," she agrees. "Everything has change s—"

Elia stops talking abruptly, ending the conversation awkwardly. I know what we are both thinking. We are allies, but we are more akin to enemies than friends. I am the leader, and she is my fellow Career; we mutually benefit from each other's presence, but we are both waiting for an opportunity to kill each other. We shouldn't be talking about such personal thoughts with each other when we're both scheming to finish the alliance once and for all. The difference is that if Elia attacks first, I don't plan on fighting back.

There is a stretched silence as we start walking again. "Where are we going?" Elia asks, breaking the quiet that had covered us like a shadow.

"Away from the forest," I reply.

Elia frowns. "Shouldn't we be heading towards the other tributes? We're still Careers; we can still hunt tributes down."

I will not deny that my choice of direction is more to satisfy my own curiosity than anything else. We had mostly stuck to the forest when Roy was the leader and had only ventured into the graveyard during the mutt attack. I want to see what else exists in this prison before dying. I also figure that if we find some mutts and stir up some excitement, the Gamemakers will be less inclined to drive us towards the others, delaying the inevitable confrontation. Despite my desire to die, I don't want to die with any more ghosts haunting my conscience.

"Trust me," I reply reassuringly, "I know what I'm doing."

Elia continues staring at me. "I sure hope so," she responds doubtfully.

_So do I._

The transformation between the forest and the new terrain is an abrupt one. The trees just suddenly disappear, the nutrient-filled soil turns to bare and chalky rock, and the grass simply stops growing. You can almost see a line where the grass ends and the rock begins.

"I have a bad feeling about this," Elia mutters.

As if to backup Elia's ominous statement, the wind picks up and begins to howl mysteriously. I shove away my doubts and start walking again. My shoes scrape against the hard ground as I hike further into the new area. After a few seconds of hesitation, Elia follows me.

The ground suddenly disappears beneath me as my foot plummets into the ground. Pain splinters through my leg as my foot sinks further into the hole. My knee scrapes painfully against the rocks, and my injured hand begins to throb as I try to find purchase on the jagged stones. Elia catches me just before my legs are forced into an uncomfortable split, and she pulls me out of the opening in the ground.

"What's down there?" Elia asks, peering down the hole.

"I don't know," I reply, standing up, "Thank you."

Elia nods in response. "Is going down there part of your plan?"

I had not planned on going into the hole. My instincts scream at me to avoid entering the dark and unknown place; the Gamemakers probably have all sorts of traps and mutts waiting for tributes down there. That is exactly what I'm looking for, though: a chance to die without having to fight any other tributes. While a part of me is excited that finally have an opportunity to die, a part of me knows that I will feel even more guilty if Elia dies too in my suicide mission. I look back briefly at my ally; I wonder if I should tell her that it will be easier if I go in alone or if I should just break off our alliance now.

Despite my previous thoughts about Elia's safety, I say, "Yeah. Let's get going."

I can see the suspicion in Elia's green eyes. I ignore it, though, and slide down into the darkness below. There is a hollow thud as I land on the ground, and I wait patiently for her to join me. Light surrounds her as she stares down at me, and I wonder what thoughts are running through her head. Finally, she hops down with me. As soon as her feet hit the floor, the light above us disappears, and we are consumed by complete darkness.

"Shit, what happened?" Elia demands.

"The Gamemakers," I answer. The name leaves a bitter taste on my tongue.

"Of course," she mutters. I imagine she is rolling her eyes. I can hear the sound of a zipper being unzipped and rummaging through something. Suddenly, a bright light illuminates the cave. I blink rapidly as I find myself staring into Elia's flashlight. "Sorry," she apologizes quickly and moves the flashlight away. "I didn't think this would have any practical use." She shrugs. "I guess I was wrong."

I can't help but smile slightly. It is completely pointless to have a flashlight in the Arena; it is even more of a magnet for other tributes than a fire. It is so odd that we have found a practical use for it.

"So, this is a brilliant plan," Elia mutters sarcastically.

"I didn't know that the Gamemakers were going to cover the entrance," I snap back defensively, "There's got to be another exit around here somewhere."

Elia casts her flashlight on the cave walls. There are two different tunnels in front of us. One of the caverns is dull and empty, but when the light is shined down the other, it catches on multiple gems and illuminates the cave in a brilliant rainbow of multi-colored lights.

Elia approaches one of the nearest gems embedded into the wall and lets her fingers skim over the edge of the bright red stone. "What are these doing down here?"

My instincts immediately tell me that the gems are the creation of the Gamemakers planted here to fool us. I am, however, intrigued by why they chose crystals and gems as the bait for their trap. Perhaps some of the lower districts would be desperate enough to actually try and take them for their family. Other than that, these stones seem to simply scream trap; they are too obvious.

_Which means there's something waiting in there for me. _"I don't know," I lie. "Want to go find out?"

Elia's skeptic gaze intensifies as she turns to me. "You've got to be joking!" she exclaims. "This is obviously a trap!"

"And if we walk into it, we give the Gamemakers what they want," I remind her, continuing to lie. At least this time it is only a half-lie. The Gamemakers are looking for a show, and I am looking for an escape. "If they want us to put on a play for them, why not? It might make them like us more. Besides, we're Careers aren't we? We can handle this."

I can see the doubt in Elia's eyes; it hasn't left them since this morning. She doesn't trust me or what I am saying, and yet for some reason, she's still following me and doing what I say. I can't fathom why, but perhaps it is better not to question it. I wonder if she is going to follow me into the tunnel or if she's going to finally realize my true intent.

"Lead the way, then," Elia mutters at last.

I nearly sigh with relief and turn around. I let the light of her flashlight guide my way through the dark cavern. Each cave wall is a glittering rainbow of different colored stones and precious gems. I would almost call it beautiful if each sparkling jewel wasn't a reminder that the Gamemakers have something planned for us up ahead.

Suddenly, a roar echoes through the cavern. Elia and I freeze in our places. "A mutt," I mouth, afraid of alerting the beast to our presence.

"No duh," she mouths back.

We stand still for a long time; silence settles on us like a cloak. For a second, I almost believe that the creature is gone. Then, a large wolf-like figure charges out of the darkness. Its fur is as white as snow, and instead of eyes, it has pale rosy pink gemstones. Large fangs jut out of its open mouth as it howls loudly.

I can feel fear grip my heart, but I try not to pay attention to it. I unsheathe my sword, and Elia pulls out her trident. The mutt had clearly been expecting one attacker, not two, but it wastes no time singling out Elia. It moves quickly despite it's large size and raises a massive forepaw. Just before it can bring it down on Elia, she raises her flashlight and shines it in its gemstone eyes. The creature howls in pain, and the calculated blow becomes a fumbling miss. Its paw comes crashing down on the floor just inches in front of Elia. She wastes no time sinking her trident into its paw and pulling it out again, watching the black tar-like blood stain the pure white fur.

"It's an albino," she announces. "It's afraid of light."

"Keep shining the flashlight in its eyes!" I command.

Elia nods quickly and redirects her flashlight towards the mutt again. It screeches loudly as the light blinds its jewel eyes. The sound grates against my eardrums, and I have to fight hard not to wince in pain. The beast's front paws flail around in a blind frenzy to locate the source of the unwelcome light. Elia seems to be herding the creature backwards using her flashlight, and for a moment, I think that we may actually win this battle without fighting.

Then, the animal's paws hit their mark. Elia's flashlight spins out of her hands and lands on the ground with a loud _crack_. The lightbulb inside flickers ominously once before going out completely. Now we are concealed in the dark again, and the mutt has the advantage. The only way to win this is to find natural light to drive it away, but we're never going to get outside light down here. Unless…

"Elia, keep it distracted!" I shout.

"It's not that easy, you know," she barks back, but somehow I know that she is fulfilling the command.

Blind, I put my sword back in its scabbard, turn away and reach out, trying to find the cave wall. My hands finally make contact with the hard surface, and I wrap one hand around a stone that is prominently sticking out of the wall. I grope around for another one, and when my other hand has made purchase on it, I haul myself. I scale the wall slowly and tediously; it is nearly impossible to do this in the dark, and climbing has never been much of a strong point for me anyway. Finally, though, I think I find the ceiling. With my left hand securely holding onto one of the stones, I unsheathe my sword again using my right hand. Carefully, I adjust my grip so that the blade is pointing downwards and I hit the roof with the pummel of my sword.

The blow sends vibrations down my arm, and my left hand is beginning to sting again. I try to press through the pain, though, because I have realized something: the ceiling is made of dirt, not rock, and is thinner than I had originally assumed. If we had walked over this place, we probably would have fallen straight through. This is, without a doubt, another one of the Gamemakers' schemes to draw tributes down here. I can use this to my advantage.

Gritting my teeth, I raise the hilt again and strike the ceiling in the same place. I can't see any cracks forming, but I can hear the ground above beginning to give way. I hit the ceiling again and again and again until both my hands are aching and my legs are cramping from standing up in this awkward position. I can still hear Elia and the mutt scuffling below, so I persist and continue trying to break the ceiling.

After another blow, I hear a sickening crack. "Elia, run!" I shout just as my left hand gives out.

I fall towards the ground, but it doesn't matter. I did what I had meant to do; the ceiling caves in above me. Chunks of earth fly down to the ground with me before the entire thing collapses. If the weight of it doesn't kill the mutt, the sunlight will definitely drive back into the darkness. I suppose this isn't such a bad way to die, being crushed by the earth. Hopefully I saved Elia; hopefully the ghosts will leave me alone now. With this thought in mind, I hit the ground, and everything goes dark.

It's not dark permanently, though. The light returns eventually. I am still alive; the ghosts are still whispering inside my ears. My hands are coated in a thick black substance that my befuddled brain cannot place. I cannot feel my legs, and when I lift myself up, I see that they are trapped underneath a large boulder. Pain has consumed the rest of my body, and I almost wish that I couldn't feel anything. Fire laces along my arms, and my head throbs dully. Everything aches; how am I not dead yet?

There is someone standing over me: a girl with long red hair and sea-green eyes. She crouches down beside me, and a sense of panic rises in my chest. She has a trident in her hands that is dripping with a black substance; it looks almost like blood.

"Hyre…" she whispers. "Did you want to die?"

That's when everything comes back to me. _I am Hyre Fletching. I am the "leader" of the Career pack. I am haunted by ghosts that have the voice of Onyx Marshall and Sapphire of District 9. I am a monster that tried to regain his dignity by sacrificing his life for his ally. That didn't work out too well, though._

"Yes," I say. Blood gurgles from lips, and I cough as the iron taste floods my mouth. "I wanted to die."

Elia stares at me, and something flashes across her eyes. Is it pity? I can't tell anymore. It's strange; I used to be so good at reading people. Then, she raises her trident that is covered in mutt blood and brings it down hard. At last, the ghosts are quiet.

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><p><strong>Thank you to the AMAZING nightfuries who made this list for me to give to all of you. Make sure to thank her!<strong>

Sapphire Tree, District 9 Female: knife stabbed into throat by Hyre Fletching

Relk Stein, District 6 Male: spear thrust into stomach by himself

Vaughn Shumway, District 11 Male: spear to the chest by Boston Williams

Skye Azurite, District 1 Female: knife stabbed into stomach by Lilly Cross

Maia Spring, District 8 Female: dagger flung into back by Aleah Armani

Clude Miller, District 12 Male: knife thrown into stomach by Onyx Marshal

Onyx Marshal, District 2 Female: knife stabbed into stomach by Hyre Fletching/herself. Counted as Hyre Fletching's kill.

Rena Sage, District 6 Female: knife to the head by Elia Zervakos

Mack Tully, District 3 Male: torn apart with knife by Claus Hendall

Tara Tremain, District 12 Female: sword through chest, hammer to head by Boston Williams

Oak Loaker, District 8 Male: suffocated by Boston Williams

Boston Williams, District 10 Male: trident to the chest by Elia Zervakos

Lilly Cross, District 11 Female: died from infection of wound given to her by Skye Azurite

Roy Rousseau, District 1 Male: died from stepping into fire set by himself, could count as killed by Aspen Checkov

Aspen Checkov, District 7 Male: died from throat slit by Aleah Armani

Hyre Fletching, District 2 Male: died from injuries/trident spearing by Elia Zervakos

**Summary of tributes still alive:**

District 1 – None

District 2 – None

District 3 – Jules Surket

District 4 – Elia Zervakos, Moss Dorian

District 5 – Claus Hendall, Aella Dekas

District 6 – none

District 7 – Nella Burchalyn

District 8 – none

District 9 – Ari Locus

District 10 – Aleah Armani

District 11 – none

District 12 - none


	56. Hello, Son

**Quarter Quell applications are now at a close!**

**Thank you all so much for your applications. They all look so promising! We're going to have a talented bunch of authors for the Quarter Quell! **

**Nina and I should have a list of the final authors up by the end of this weekend, so keep your eyes peeled for them! (I've always hated that idiom...)**

**Now, ONWARDS, with the packet chapters, where no one, not even our very own authors, knows what to expect...*mysterious eyebrow wiggle***

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><p><em>"I've come a long, long way,<em>  
><em>Made a lot of mistakes.<em>  
><em>But I'm breathin', breathin',<em>  
><em>That's right and I mean it, mean it.<em>  
><em>This time I'm a little run down,<em>  
><em>I've been living out loud.<em>  
><em>I can beat it, beat it,<em>  
><em>That's right 'cause I'm feeling, feeling<em>  
><em>Invincible."<em>

_—Invincible, _Hedley

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><p><strong>Ari Locus, District 9<strong>

* * *

><p>"Ahh!"<p>

I shoot upwards from the small hollow under the bushes that I chose to rest in, my breath coming in short, fast gasps while my heart pounds so powerfully that I feel like at any moment it's going to burst out of my chest. The memory of where I am returns immediately and I jump to my feet as quickly as I awoke, turning in circles and scanning the arena wildly for any signs of tributes. But, for once, luck seems to be on my side, and other than a spooked chipmunk, nothing living is in view. I swallow hard and give myself a little break to try and catch my breath. One thing's for sure, even if I get out of these Games alive, I'll never be able to sleep properly again.

The adrenaline quickly fades from my system though, and soon I register the stinging pain coming from my back as the warm trickle of what I'm positive is blood seeps through the pathetic attempt at a bandage that's supposed to be covering the wound.

Sitting back down in the little hollow, I try to reach my hands around to tighten the bandaging or do something, but I'm no Maia Spring; despite my efforts, my body just cannot possibly contort into positions to make this any easier. Of course, it'd also help if I knew the first thing about medicine and injuries and things like that. Oh, and having some proper supplies would help too, but hey, I knew I wouldn't be getting anything from any sponsors the moment I volunteered for the Games. So I had to deal with ripping the spare blanket from Oak's pack into strips and attempting to messily tie them around myself and stop the blood flow.

_Oak. _Obviously the name brings a volley of memories to mind. But it's not exactly something I haven't felt before; every second of every minute of every hour since the mutt attack, my head's been pounding with names, the words echoing in time with the beating of my heart or the aching of my back. _Sapphire. Oak. Dad. _And the events of that night five days earlier really did nothing to help matters.

_I'm stumbling around the forest, trying to analyze the different types of plants despite the growing darkness and remember which ones Oak said were actually edible. Since I got away from the Cornucopia with nothing but a water bottle and a sword (which now lays deserted back in the forest, never to be touched again. At least, not by me) and Oak only managed to grab a backpack, our food supply depleted pretty quickly. Neither of us were from districts which might help us out in the arena— although if my dad had been normal and decided to go into the study of muttations, that might have helped a bunch. Then again, if we'd been a normal family I wouldn't even be here—but we'd picked up a bit of knowledge during the training days. It isn't much, but it's just enough to survive, which is really all that matters._

_I'm just about to call it a night due to lack of visibility – I'm sure Oak, out trying to hunt in the forest somewhere, isn't having much luck either – when suddenly a loud clang echoes through the arena, making me jump about a foot off the ground. Quickly, I try to regain my composure and look around for the source of the noise, mostly just so I can get the heck away from it. But it seems to be coming from the North-East—the direction Oak had gone off in. Doubts well up inside me but I do my best to brush them away; I have to check, just to make sure nothing's wrong._

_It isn't long that I've been heading on my new course before another loud bang rents the night air, a bright flash accompanying it from the direction I'm heading in. Thanks to the brief illumination of the arena around me, I can see that the foliage is slowly changing; trees becoming less like those of a forest, looking more bent and creepy by the second. I must be close to entering a part of the arena I only glimpsed during the bloodbath; the graveyard._

_The sounds are growing louder now, and I can just hear the distant echoes of shouts and fights coming from somewhere ahead. I speed up in anticipation, my hand unconsciously gripping my water bottle for defense – it's the only thing I could use as a weapon – when I feel a chill creep slowly up my spine as the hairs on the back of my neck stand on end. Like the feeling you get when someone supposedly walks over your grave. I never used to put much stock in sayings like that, but considering where I'm heading right now, I guess it's appropriate. Something crunches right behind me, like a foot treading on a pile of leaves, and I whirl around, but all I'm met with is a view of the empty forest behind me. My eyes flit from tree to tree, but no hidden figure is to be seen and reluctantly I turn back towards my destination. But before I can take another step, a new sound can be heard, one that may seem less menacing at first, but hearing it here where it couldn't possibly be heard freaks me out more than the crunching of footsteps ever could._

_"The darkness holds all sorts of monsters and creeps,_

_It's oh so pitch black, so dark and so deep,_

_But when you let your eyelids sink and slip into sleep,_

_Darkness becomes your guiding lead."_

_It's Sapphire's song. Abandoning all attempts at trying to stay calm, I circle the area continuously, water bottle held at the ready and desperately searching for...actually, I'm not quite sure exactly what to look for. Something that could possibly make sense of this situation, make it a whole lot less creepy than it is now._

"_Rock back into goblins and fairies and elves,_

_Witches and princes and lords a'leaping twelve,_

_Let the darkness consume you until you're no longer yourself,_

_Lean into hurricanes and wishes to delve."_

_Despite myself, my hands start to shake as a voice joins in with the tinny sound of Sapphire's token. And I know that voice. Anyone who had watched the interviews would have heard it sing along, the voice sounding uncaring and free, unburdened with the knowledge that it wouldn't live to survive another night. But that's not possible, this can't be real...She's _dead!_ I saw her _die_. This can't be happening._

_All at once, the song cuts off, and the forest collapses into a deafening silence. Even the sound of my own breathing can't be heard, though that might be because I'm holding it in, waiting paralysed for something to happen. And then it does._

"_Hi Ari."_

_No, no, no, no, no, no, no, no. This isn't real. But when I manage to get my frozen body to turn, I can't see a way around it as the truth stares right at me with her wide, green eyes, the mane of blonde hair out behind her. And held in her one remaining hand is the singing token, the one I thought I'd seen the last of when I left it with her little memorial. Still, this can't possibly be her. It can't be . . ._

"_Forgotten me already?" She cocks her head to the side. "Don't you remember? 'We should ally.' That was what you said. Then again, you also said that there was a better chance of us surviving if we banded together." She laughs without humour, her eyes shining dangerously as she shakes her bloody stump of a hand out in front of me. "That didn't work out too well, now did it?"_

_Even if I could think of anything to say, I wouldn't be able to make a sound. Instead I just stand frozen in the same spot, my mouth moving wordlessly as the blood begins to drain from my face. This can't be her. But it is. It's Sapphire._

_Her lips curve downwards into a pout. "Well, it's no fun if you're not going to talk. Don't you think we have a lot to catch up on?" She glances over my shoulder. "Really, I thought you'd raised him better than this."_

"_I thought so too. Isn't it a shame when they disappoint you like this?"_

_If I thought I'd felt terrified a second ago, that was absolutely nothing compared to what I felt now as the new voice spoke in my ear, so close that I couldn't believe that I hadn't heard the person come up from behind me. But as I hesitantly begin to turn, every inch of my mind screaming not to, I realise why. Because this is the man who can sneak around without ever making a sound. The man who can travel right behind a Peacekeeper and never give any indication that he's there. It's-_

"_Hello, son."_

_One glimpse of his eyes, that's all I manage to see. But unlike Sapphire's, they don't hold their original colour. Instead, they're completely black, absolutely no whites showing. Just two black, endless orbs of darkness. I see them for a second, that's all. Because then, I run._

_It took me a good long while to cross the forest carefully in the darkness, but I don't even care about the branches whipping in my face every few minutes; I just allow my reflexes to take over and run, faster than I ever have in my entire life. Behind me I can hear the sounds of pursuit and my heart leaps into my throat as my brain kicks into overdrive, screaming over and over to get away, that I'm not fast enough. I don't want to listen, but it's true; I can hear them gaining on me. And then, as if the whole thing wasn't horrifying enough, Sapphire begins to sing again. No, not Sapphire, it can't be Sapphire; I don't know what it is but it can't be her. And that's not my dad. It can't be. Please, no._

"_And once your face pales and you give yourself a fright."_

_I narrowly miss tripping over a nearby tree root, trying not to imagine what would have happened if I had fallen. They would have caught me, and then who knows what terrifying things would happen? They'd try to kill me for sure; but what if beforehand, they cut off my arm, like Sapphire? Or did any number of horrifying things? Really, the gruesome possibilities are endless. Not helping, I manage to think over the cacophonous tumult of millions of other terrified thoughts trying to cram their way into my brain._

"_You'll know it's more than the werewolves' bite."_

Just run!_ my brain screams. _Don't think, just run as far away as you can!_ But they're fast too, and little things like wayward tree branches and obstacles like that don't seem to bother them. I wince as my blind sprint takes me straight into a patch of painful brambles, but don't dare stop and try and find a way around them; just brace myself and try and get through as quickly as I can, trying to ignore the stinging and small beads of blood that fall from my hands as they push through the spiky plants in an effort to get away._

"_It has to be something that is to do with that Light."_

_I nearly stumble again as my arms sweep forwards to plunge through the next set of brambles, only to find that there's nothing to grab onto. My momentum carries me forward and I nearly crash into a tree but I don't even notice, just right myself and get ready to take off again. Maybe they're still stuck in the brambles; my heart leaps at the thought and for the first time during the night a thought crosses my mind that doesn't have something to do with my imminent, frightening death. I might actual get away..._

"_So fall backwards into the NIGHT!"_

_The Sapphire/non-Sapphire's voice cracks in fury as she shouts the last word of the song, and out of nowhere a hand latches on to my back. No, hand isn't the right word; it's a claw, a claw with giant, elongated fingernails that tear through the flesh near my shoulder blades, sending agonising shoots of pain all through my body and causing me to cry out in pain. For a terrifying moment, my brain completely freezes up as it tries to get over the fact that it's done, they've caught me and now I'm going to die at the hands of my sweet thirteen-year old ally and my dad. My dad..._

_There's always another option._

_The phrase echoes through my ears as a sudden burst of adrenaline rushes through my veins and in a desperate attempt to shake her off, I whirl around and swing the only tool I have at her; my water bottle. Sapphire/non-Sapphire lets out a shriek of anger but her grip loosens slightly and I use all my remaining strength to send out a kick, hitting her squarely in the stomach and sending her tripping back into Dad/non-Dad. Without hesitating, I turn so quickly I nearly slip in the soft dirt of the forest and dash off through the trees, not thinking about the new horror the Capitol decided to unleash on us or the fact that I nearly died a few minutes ago. Just run. Run._

I wince as the memory sends more pain shooting up the newly-opened wounds in my back and finish rewrapping the bandage as best I can. Luckily for me, the two...things decided to give up after that. Or they just reached the limit of their trap; every Gamemaker ambush has its borders, or else the Games wouldn't be any fun if tributes weren't being killed by each other. But as I saw the night after the attack, Oak hadn't been so lucky.

After that, I'd just sort of travelled through the forest in a state of numbness, not really having a set direction. It wasn't just that Oak died – I mean, he was a great guy and if those things I saw were anything like the horrors he'd had to face, then I felt absolutely awful. Still, we had only known each other for three days in the arena, and as awful as it sounds that did somewhat lessen the blow—but everything that had happened in the arena sort of got to me. Though not in a way that made me want to collapse in a heap and die of hopelessness; but if I'm going to be completely honest, I had wanted to do that a few times. But each time, something stopped me; I guess seeing my dad, even if it wasn't really him, made me think about how much I wished to see the actual him again, not the one that was attempting to tear me apart. I'd never really considered the possibility of actually going home; I'd always thought that the Capitol wouldn't allow that. But maybe...well, best not to get my hopes up just yet. At least now I was being a bit smarter, actually thinking about everything that had happened, something I must admit I probably don't do enough of.

Two of my allies now have died. Two. Coincidence? Yeah, probably. But still, I keep getting this strange feeling that there's something more to it. Especially when I think about where I am now, in my hollow surrounded by oak trees. Sapphire _Tree , Oak _Loaker; it'd be so easy to repeat the whole memorial thing. And even as I think about it, I feel like all of the cameras in the arena are zoomed in on me, daring me to do it again. I don't think the Capitol is particularly fond of that sort of thing. Mind you, I knew they'd have it out for me from the beginning. What kind of message would it send to the people of Panem if a criminal won the Games? Not a good one, that's for sure; at least, not good for them. But still, they haven't killed me yet. So what's their game? Trying to make an example out of me or something? Make me suffer first?

Or maybe they just figured that I'd end up dying without them having to even lift a finger. After all, wasn't I going into the arena with the intention of trying to help Sapphire out? Hadn't I supposedly "made peace with death?" Maybe, but that all changed when she died, and then when Oak shared her fate. That night with the mutts I'd come closer to death than ever before in the arena, and I certainly did _not _go peacefully. In the end, survival isn't a choice. It's an instinct, and one that's pretty hard to turn off at that.

Then again, I might just be over-thinking this whole thing, developing a major case of paranoia, courtesy of the arena. Still, if I haven't gone completely insane yet, I guess I should count myself as lucky.

"So what now, Ari?" I ask myself out loud. "What now?" Of course, my question is met with silence, the only noise a slight rustling as the trees stir in the soft breeze. My dad was always a careful planner; he knew every detail of every job before he pulled it off. But on more than one occasion, something would go wrong and we'd end up having to improvise. No matter how things were supposed to go, something would always intervene. But that was alright. Because there was always another option.

Somewhat unconsciously, I rise from the hollow and make my way over to a nearby boulder, careful to not move my shoulders too much and aggravate the wound more. For a few seconds, I just stand and stare at the rock, not entirely sure why I came over to it. But there's something about its shape, how it's positioned...it's too perfect. Frowning slightly, I place my hands on what I expect to be the cool surface of stone and instead wind up touching something that is definitely solid, but hotter than I expected, like it's absorbed more energy from the sun then it should have.

The wheels in my brain begin to turn and I position myself in a sturdy stance facing the rock, hands still pressed to its surface. My muscles tense as I begin to push against the stone, my back complaining heavily about this new strain by throbbing even worse, but I grit my teeth and continue the job until the stone's rolled over to reveal, not a hard-pressed rock indent in the dirt as would be expected, but a hole, big enough for a person to fit through. I tilt my head, analyzing this newfound discovery; it seems like it leads to some sort of rocky, underground cavern. I try to see down the tunnel but it curves off sharply in two different directions, obscuring my view. Great, just what this arena needed; more _freaking _mazes.

_But it could be pretty useful, _I reason with myself. _What if no one else has found it yet? You could travel anywhere in the arena and no one would be able to follow you. _

Admittedly, the idea does sound appealing. _Yeah, but who knows what's down there? What if that's where the people/mutts live? _

I completely freeze at the thought, the idea of having to face another potential encounter with Dad and Sapphire again sending shoots of fear into the pit of my stomach. There's no way I could survive another encounter with them; either they'd take me down physically or I'd just completely snap from the insane terror of it all. So...what's worse? Staying up here, where I know danger lurks in the forms of the other remaining tributes in the arena? Or delving into the dark unknown of this cavern below?

Mind you, I had been complaining constantly to myself about the forest throughout the last few days since Oak died. There were too many memories, memories of allies and friends, sadness and death, and of course the ever-present fear that those creatures might show up again. Hadn't I been looking for a way out? _Well Ari, _I think, smiling slightly despite myself. _Looks like you found your other option._

So the underground cave it is, then. I take a deep breath, steeling myself at the thought of what I'm about to do. I'm taking a huge chance, I know, but then again, when have I not taken risks? My whole life prior to the Games was one big risk; funny how you can completely forget your old self in light of the new, terrifying grounds of the arena.

But before I go, something stops me, calling me back to the circle of trees. I hesitate, knowing that I shouldn't do it; who knows what the Capitol would do afterwards. But I'm not planning on allying with anymore tributes that I see, so really, the only one they can hurt here is me. And they've probably been planning to do that from the start, so...what the heck?

_Of course, it would have been nicer if I'd had an actual knife, _I think fifteen minutes later, gazing and the carved tree bark that's supposed to read "Oak Loaker" but sort of looks like "QdR Lapbn." Well, I tried. "You were a good ally," I whisper to no one in particular. "Wish we could have known each other longer."

I don't stay long at the tree, because my job's done. My alliance with Oak was nice, but short-lived, and we didn't really get to bond much other than over the mutual loss of our own district partners/allies, though it would have been nice if we could have spent longer together. In fact, I'm beginning to wonder if carving his name into the tree wasn't so much for his benefit, but for mine. My urge to be remembered seems to be steadily growing into some sort of unhealthy obsession, but seriously, I'm in the Hunger Games, I think I deserve some slack. I'm sure there's plenty of worse ways to deal with the stresses of the arena; I could have gone flat-out crazy even. I nearly did there, the day after Sapphire had died. But that awful cloud of misery seems to have left me alone, for now at least. I made my peace with her, I tried to make sure that she would be remembered. She's gone now, she's safe; really, the only thing left to do to try and help her is by winning and bringing her family a year of prosperity along with the rest of our district.

My lips quirk upwards into a small grin as I head back for the tunnel to the underground labyrinth. Winning might be a bit of an unreachable goal, at least for a criminal like me. But I'm starting to think that, like having an ever-present other option, there are more than one ways to win the Games. The Capitol might be trying to make an example out of me, but who knows? Maybe I might find a way to make them look bad along the way. Something like that would be nice. At the very least, getting as far as I possibly can in the Games would be good. I guess I haven't resolved to die just yet. I'm not ready to give up like that anymore.

"Look out, Capitol," I mutter quietly to myself as I head off into the darkness, leaving the sun behind for who knows how long. "The old Ari is back. And he's going to steal the show."


	57. Whose Memory?

**Phoenix here! **

**Bells life is slowing down now, and I finally crawled myself to the doctor's. Trying to get better here, I've been sick for over a week-I've lost weight from not anything. I got some meds to help my stomach, but they kind of make me groggy so I hope I make sense.**

**For those of you who want to know about our process, let me lay it out a little for you here. We're going to go into the process for this story, we'll go in the process of how we chose people and start the story in the new on coming approximiately Jun 21st. **

**We're in what's called the packet chapters. Previously, we freely talked about who lived and died in our forum. That's how our chapters were handed out before we took over. Everything was open-as was the voting. When Bells and I took over, we found out there had been some problems with the polls-so we did away with it.**

**So how we pick who lives and dies is based on reliabiliy, creativity, and believability. For instance, you can like Katniss all you want-but if she had no skills, she wouldn't have one except in a fluke. So the point is we have to take in who's believable. We read through EVERY single review and we see who people like and who they hate. We take that into account-because we want a good story. And if there comes a point where a character's story has run out then their story is through. **

**The packet chapters all happen on the 9th day. Starting with Claus. **

**The packet chapters are arranged so that everyone gets to have one more chapter before their character is killed. Sometimes a character gets to write their own death-and sometimes the death is seen through the killers or bystanders POV. This is decided by which would have the most impact on everyone.**

**We give each writer guidelines for their chapter. Sometimes, it's very specific-like with Boston. We told the kind of mutt, we set out the killings, and gave the author the opportunity to have their character go crazy like they wanted. Other times, like with Ari's or Claus' most recent chapters, we tell them to that it's completely up to them. We have no set guidelines for the chapter to move the overall plot. And there is an overall plot, believe you me. You'll find out a bit from the gamemaker's about that Sat.**

**The packet chapters were sent to each person. The first line told the author whether their character lived or died in this "round" of deaths. It then outlined what all chapters their character would be involved in. It told them who they can talk to and about what with each author. This way the authors don't ultimately know what's going around in other areas of the arena-just like if they were in the games. **

**It also allows NO ONE to know who the full details except Bells and I.**

**We have already determined a winner, based on what's best of the story, reliability, and creativity. Only a few people actually know who the final two are right now. And the final two, don't even know which of them wins. They will both be writing a showdown and winning chapter. One will be published on here as the end of the story, the other will be published as a "what if" one shot. By limiting who knows who actually wins to just Bells and I, we assure that no one can concretely know who. People will take sides and people will guess. But no one knows but Bells and I.**

**Other Questions:**

**We're hoping to announce who will be in the Quell this weekend, it will be called Bring Them to Their Knees. Pretty soon, you're going to see exactly why it's called that. ItI'll put a note at the bottom of the chapter (unless I forget). It will show you why there is a Quell. Writing will begin as soon as people are confirmed. By the time TOB ends we will have all of the chapters up to the bloodbath in. We likely won't slate anyone to die or hand out bloodbath chapters UNTIL the reapings are out so that we can see who the readers like. The only ones that would be slated to die before then would probably be those who are unreliable etc. We're not mean about things being late. We encourage open communication about it so that things can be paced accordingly.**

**And don't worry Jules has another chapter. All of the final eight get a chapter before they die or while they die. Sorry that sometimes it's a long time before you get back to a character, but we try to give people equal chances/equal amount of chapters. Obviously, those in alliances get more "screentime" since they're with more people.**

**Roy could be considered Aspen's kill since he carved him up and he COULD HAVE died from that. Unless absolutely necessary the Capitol doesn't attribute a tributes death as suicide. They would try to spin in that Roy was hurt so severely by Aspen that he died so he wouldn't have to linger. Not necessarily true, but they want people to enjoy and love the Games, cant' do taht when people are committing suicide left, right and center.**

**Sorry for the super long note.**

**Hoping to finish catching up on reviews and stuff this weekend, but please bare with us. We're recovering and there are only two us now.**

**My oneshots will hopefully be out Saturday. If I can stay conscious enough to finish up Aspen's family reaction and the what if he won scenario-also have to stop crying long enough.**

**Seen a favourite character die that you want to hear more from? Sound off in the reviews so we can convince more authors to do oneshots to gives us closure!**

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><p><strong>Lexi Blaze's AN:**

**Hey guys, it's Alexa Blaze. I just have two quick things to say: One, please check out the website for this fanfic if you haven't already! Just type _24tributes24authors . webs . com _(remove the spaces) into the URL bar, and you'll arrive at the official site. I recommend you check out 1) the Tribute Spotlights, which are basically tribute interviews, and 2) the photos of all the tributes! There's also a map of the arena there, just in case you're wondering. :)**

**Secondly, a lot of people have been commenting, "Hey, did the Disney movie _Tangled _have any influence on Aella and her friends?" Well yes, yes it did. Her two best friends are Flynn and Pascal (both names from _Tangled)_, and Pascal's dog's name is Maxi – short for "Maximus", the name of the horse from Tangled. Also, if you pay attention, Aella is described _exactly _like Rapunzel :P (besides the 70 feet of magical hair, that is). I'm a bit of a Disney freak, and _Tangled _is my favorite Disney movie; Rapunzel is my favorite princess.**

**Okay, sorry for the long tirade, I just wanted to address some questions. I hope you enjoy this chapter; make sure to let me know what you think!**

**- Lexi**

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><p><strong>Aella Dekas, District 5<strong>

**By Lexi Blaze**

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><p><em>"The tricky thing is yesterday, we were just children,<br>playing soldiers just pretending,  
>dreaming dreams with happy endings."<em>

_—Eyes Open, _Taylor Swift

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><p>In my opinion, the thing that sucks most about the arena is the lack of toilets.<p>

Like, seriously – going to the bathroom is way too arduous a task. You have to find a tree or something that's away from prying eyes, and then squat uncomfortably. There's no toilet paper, and some tributes are so selfish that they take their shits right in the middle of the path. Really guys? Were you raised in a barn? I stepped in a pile of crap a day or two ago . . . and I'm pretty sure it was human.

I grumble all these thoughts to myself as Moss goes off to relieve himself. At least he's a guy – it's probably easier for him. Ahh, what the hell. Does it really matter in the long run?

We're camped out on the very outer edge of the forest. The trees are all dead now; killed by Roy's fire on the day of the attack. Their rough black wood still stinks of smoke, and there are no more leaves. Everything is burnt and the pointy branches of the tree seem harsh against the light-blue early-morning sky.

Things are different now – so, so different. Moss, I'm pretty sure, has gone partially insane. Aspen is dead. Roy died in our fight with the Careers. Lilly's gone . . . and I've made it to the top eight. Whoop-de-do.

Although, maybe now I have a chance at winning. I never truly thought I'd make it this far.

Moss and I sit by the base of a tree, eating some of the food he found stuffed in his pocket. I remember when he put it there, back during the fight with the Careers.

Absentmindedly, I reach up to touch my face, which is covered in bandages. The wound on my hip isn't as bad as I thought; it's healing quickly enough. But my face . . . well, I'm no longer the most gorgeous tribute in the arena. I would've looked better if all my skin had simply been carved off. But no - now I have flesh and blood marring my face from the corner of my eye, across my cheek and mouth and down to my chin. Moss has to help me change my bandages every day.

I wonder what my sister would think of my wound. She was the one who was always like "Oh, Aella, you're so pretty – you should use it to your advantage." I never listened to her, but now that I _know _I look messed up, it kind of hurts. Emotionally, that is. I mean, it hurts physically as well . . . but even though I don't care, it hurts emotionally.

I sigh when I think of my sister, Cleo: the one person I pretend to hate but whom I love most in the world. I know there are tributes in the arena who go around like "Aww, my siblings and my parents hate me blah blah blah". They're here every year. But I'm not one of those people: I'm exceptionally lucky – even though my sister and I are as different as black and white, we love each other. We care for each other. I remember my shock when Cleo said she'd miss me when she said her goodbyes. I may love her, but I guess I never truly realized that as bitchy as she is, she loves me too. I can't believe I'm thinking this (and I would rather die than say it to her, or Pascal and Flynn), but I miss her most out of everyone back home. The saying "You never really know what you've got until it's gone" rings true in my situation. I always liked to tell Cleo I hated her – but the truth is, I don't.

I feel like such a bland person when I think those sorts of things. I'm not particularly special. The world can go on without me. I'm not an insane pyromaniac like Roy; I'm not out for revenge like Lilly. I'm just District 5's resident tomboy. Nothing about me is too out of the ordinary, and maybe that's what's the most surprising of all. The Games always seem filled to the brim with characters like Roy, or like Moss, who is doing this for his family. Hardly ever do you see a normal tribute with a normal, boring, average backstory, or so it seems.

But maybe I'm living (well, so far) proof that normal kids _do _get Reaped for the Hunger Games. It's not just the insane people who are picked for the arena. The Games affect everyone, from the bad guys to the good guys. Hopefully my appearance in the arena will prove to some of those _normal _kids at home that _they're not safe. _No one is.

I glance over at Moss affectionately. He saved my life, back during the battle with the Careers. I had been running blindly through the forest, writhing in agony, when I bumped in to someone. That someone had been Moss, who had (by natural instinct) held his sword to my throat. I would've been a goner if he hadn't recognized me through the blood and tears, and refrained from chopping off my head. Instead he helped me up, and together we made our way to safety to recuperate. We've pretty much been in the same spot for a few days now, still trying to get our bearings.

I itch at my face bandages, squinting at Moss. "It's high time we get a move on," I mumble as loudly as I can. The cut and the bandages are impairing my speech, but at least I'm understandable. Moss hardly even looks up at me; just shrugs and draws patterns in the dirt at his feet.

"I was thinking," I continue, "we could explore the rocky terrain over there," I gesture to beyond the edge of the forest. "As much as I hate to admit it, sitting on our asses isn't going to get us anywhere. We need to go . . ." I cough awkwardly ". . . 'hunting'."

In response, Moss stands up from his crouching position on the ground. He looks me over once, but then starts walking away, neglecting to offer to help me up. Something's off in his eyes; he's not "all there" anymore. He's still Moss, but not the one I know.

I hop up and follow him, leery of his behavior. Moss keeps clenching and unclenching his fists, along with grinding his teeth. He blinks rapidly as I quicken my pace to walk beside him. We're almost at the edge of the forest; almost at what appears to be a rock field of some sort.

It's so unexpected that I jump, screaming. Moss falls aside, collapsing against a nearby tree trunk. He's yelling nonsense; his words are garbled and his eyes are wild.

"What the hell?" I screech, freaked out. I kick him in the leg, and Moss wraps his arms around himself.

"I can't go on like this!" he screams at the top of his lungs. "I can't keep doing this!"

"Oh, my God," I tug on the end of my ponytail. "Moss, shut the hell up. What is wrong with you?" I should probably be more sympathetic, but I'm Aella Dekas. I take the tomboy approach to everything. Who cares that I'm a girl with boobs and a period? I'm not going to kiss his wounds and make it better by acting like his freaking mom.

"I thought I could do this," Moss yells, almost as if he thinks I'm a mile away and can't hear him. "I came into these Games for my brother, and now I'm going to die. I wasn't expecting all . . . all this," his hands shake. He places them over his ears, trying to block out all the silent noise he can hear. Moss's voice goes rough and scratchy as he continues yelling. "I wanted to make a difference, but it's too hard. This isn't worth it."

"Goddammit, Moss! Stop yelling! Someone is going to hear you and come running, and then they will shove a sword up your sorry ass and you'll have zero chance of making it home!" I yell back at him, creating just as much noise.

"Let them find me. Let them kill me. I can't take any more of this," his voice drops to a low whisper.

I roll my eyes and crouch down beside him. "Moss," I say, but he doesn't look at me. "Moss," I try again, and still he continues to stare at his knees. "MOSS!" I grab his face in both of my hands and turn him to look at me.

"Let me go, Aella," he says in a dead voice. His eyes are hollow. "Leave me here alone to die. Everyone I love is being hurt. I mean, just look at your . . . at your . . ." he trails off.

"My face," I spit out, tilting my head to look at him curiously. "Yeah, you know what? My face has been seriously messed up. And you know what else? Both our allies are dead. But _you're not_. Moss, I don't care what you say," he tries to advert his eyes, but I smack him on the cheek, "you actually have a chance at winning this thing. You're going to go out there, and you're going to win."

He shakes his head, trying to rip away from me, but I pull him closer. His breath is hot and putrid on my face, but I stare him straight in the eyes. "You have a chance, and you have a reason. Me? I'm just . . . here. I have nothing to go back to, not like you do. So keep plowing forward. Sound like a plan?"

He shakes his head again, but I struggle with him until I'm forcing his head to nod. He glares at me from behind a curtain of hair.

"You're going to go out there, and you're going to win. But not for Maris. For you. This is _your _fight. It _is_ worth it, Moss, and you can't just throw your life away. _Just because everyone around you is getting hurt, doesn't mean they're hurting_," I grumble. "I'm doing fine, besides the fact I look like I was mauled by a unicorn."

This finally gets a reaction out of him, and he snickers. Slowly, I let go of my vice-like grip on his jaw, letting his face slink further away from mine. Moss still looks like he died and was dragged along the bottom of the ocean . . . but at least now it looks like he's come back to life.

I think about what I said. I was pretty much telling Moss "fuck my own life, you're going to be the Victor." I want to win, but in a way, I meant what I said. Without me, the world can go on. No one depends on me. But without Moss . . . his younger brother (and his father) are screwed. Moss had a positive impact on his District; I ran around playing sports. As much as I want to live, the sad truth is that he deserves his life more than I do.

The older boy scowls at me, rubbing his jaw as he stands up. "Jeez, Aella. You're going to leave bruises."

I just smile. "Feeling any better?"

"Not really," he shrugs. "But I think I've regained some hope." His smile is weak. "Shall we continue on?"

I let out a huff of breath and stand. "Aye aye, captain. Good teamwork," I wink my good eye.

"For the record," he says, his voice still gravelly, "even with the cut on your face . . . I still think you're pretty."

I blush and stare down at my feet, mumbling a "thanks". Even though I don't exactly like being beautiful, it still sucks to have my looks so horrible altered.

We lope off together, side-by-side. Moss's hands continue to shake, but by the time we reach the rock field, it's stopped. I'm surprised by what we find - a long expanse of gravel ground, punctuated by rocks and boulders. Everything is gray and depressing, and I frown as we pick our way through the place. I get scrapes on my legs from slipping on some pebbles and falling down a few times, but Moss is always there to help me. We're good allies - we help each other. He's like Pascal; a close friend I know I can trust.

I just hope I won't have to kill him . . . or watch him get killed. And vice versa. Who knows how unbalanced Moss's mind would get if I - his last relation in the arena - was brutally murdered in front of his eyes?

It's not that unlikely a possibility.

"Hey, look!" Moss suddenly exclaims, and all my senses snap to alert mode. My grip on the double-axe I've been carting along tightens. The older boy is pointing to a hole in the ground, hidden partially underneath a boulder. The hole is small, but something about it is inviting.

"I bet I could probably fit down there," I say, crouching down to peer into the darkness. I can see shadows - there must be some sort of light below - but nothing definitive. I whip my head back to face Moss. "I can't fit down there with the axe at the same time," I say, "Will you pass it down after me?"

It looks at me as if _I'm_ the insane one. "You're actually going down there?" he asks in a clear voice. "It could be a Gamemaker trap . . . or something equally as dangerous . . ." Moss begins to mutter softy to himself.

"There's only one way to find out," I shrug. I'm getting the old, familiar feeling of troublemaking and adventure back, and it feels so good I know I can't ignore it. Squeezing Moss's hand gently and passing him my axe, I sit down on my butt and slid through the tiny space between the boulder and the ground.

I go tumbling to the floor beyond the rock in a shower of pebbles, landing with an _oof_. Looking up, I notice lights on the walls - lights that have been put there by Gamemakers. The tunnel I sit in is made of damp, grey stone; the walls curve and blend into the ceiling and the floor. I kick at a pebble and it goes echoing off into the distance.

I stand and peer around the corner ahead of me. The tunnel branches off into multiple passages, each lit by a dim light on the wall. Running back, I call up the hole to Moss.

"I think it's some sort of underground labyrinth," I yell over his muttering. "Come on down; I think you can fit. And pass my - _AHHHHHH_!"

I let out an ear-piercing scream as something cold and metallic hits me in the back of the head, sending me flying forwards into the tunnel wall and then crumpling to the ground. Whatever hit me has made a gash in the back of my head, and I can feel warm blood begin to trickle down the nape of my neck.

I turn, hands balled into fists. Behind me stands a male tribute, not much older than myself. I recognize him from the Reapings . . . there was something different about him . . .

Right. Ari Locus, District 9: the thief.

He holds a metallic water bottle in his hand, covered in my blood. Although it hit me hard enough to leave a gash, I'm hardly disoriented.

I hear Moss shouting from above, scrambling around in a panic. He probably can't see anything that's going on down here, and is most likely having another freakout. I concentrate on the threat in front of me though as Ari turns to run away. He's fast, but my reflexes are quicker. I jump forward and grab his ankle, and we both go crashing down to the floor.

There's a loud clattering behind me, and I glimpse my battle axe falling to the floor of the tunnel before Ari bites my arm. I gasp and release my grip on him slightly, and he slinks away – only to grab my weapon. As he scrambles towards it, I get an eyeful of long, red scratches on his back. They're nothing too bad, but I can tell that they're a painful inconvenience.

Ari swings back around to face me, and I roll away as my heavy blade lodges itself in the floor, right where my head had been moments before. Ari – a tribute I've never talked to, and who has never even glanced my way – is trying to kill me . . . and he's got my weapon.

I jump up, calling for Moss as Ari takes another swing that I easily dodge. My ally is frantically trying to get through the hole, sword and all, even though he's a bit too big. I reach forward and grab the axe shaft in both hands, trying to wrestle it from Ari. We tumble over each other, trying to pull the weapon towards ourselves and away from the other.

Ari kicks me in the knee, and my left leg buckles. But before he wrenches the axe from my grip, I whip out my fist and do what I do best – punch him in the face.

There's a horrible _crack_, and suddenly blood spurts out everywhere. I've broken his nose, and now the slimy red blood is getting all over everything. He recoils, holding his nose with both hands. _Ha, _I think. He dropped his water bottle sometime during our struggle, and now he's defenceless.

_Poor guy, _I think as I shift my grip on my heavy weapon, bringing it around so I can swing it at him. _All he ever did was try to survive. I don't know him . . . but I know he didn't ask for this. _Surely he didn't think it would end this way. I doubt he knew I had Moss – and a weapon – when he hit me with that water bottle. I had probably stumbled across his hiding spot, and he was just trying to protect himself; maybe knock me out, so he could escape.

Ari Locus, District 9. I bet he has a home, and a family, and someone who loves him. He has a life . . . and now I have the power to take it away. There's sorrow in my eyes as I raise the double-bladed axe above my head, poised for the final strike. Ari looks deflated, but there's still unbroken life in his eyes.

And that's when Moss makes an appearance.

My ally appears out of the darkness behind Ari and wraps his hands around the younger tribute's neck, tightening his fingers so that they cut off his circulation. The scene reminds me too much of home – of the fake fights Pascal and Flynn would have in the backyard. Back then, it was just pretend.

Ari's eyes bulge, and he removes his hands from his nose in order to try and pry Moss's fingers away from his neck. "Let . . . me . . . go!" he gasps for breath. "Put me . . . down!" He can barely get the words out. It's then that I notice Moss has lifted Ari a good foot off the floor, and that Moss is yelling in some sort of strangled war cry. "There has . . . to be . . . another option!" His cries and desperation send tears running down my face, even though I'm not the one being hurt.

I'm screaming, too. I want Moss to put Ari down – he doesn't deserve to die, and Moss is not a killer – but it's not like we can just let Ari go. He's one step closer to getting out of this cursed arena.

Ari's legs kick frantically in the air as his face turns red, then purple. I can see veins standing out against Moss's skin as he strangles Ari. "_Stop it!" _Moss screams inexplicably, and it's then that I fully realize he's officially past the point of crazy. "_You won't hurt her!" _he yells. "_I won't lose someone else!"_

I'm screaming, Moss is yelling, Ari's gasping . . . and then it's all over.

Ari's body crumples in on itself and Moss drops him to the ground as a cannon booms, echoing overhead and along the stone tunnel walls. I stare down at Ari's body, mouth open in horror. Moss continues to yell: "You won't hurt her! I'm losing everyone! Stop it! I'll never make it out alive; kill me instead!"

My body goes on autopilot. I reach forward and grab Moss's wrist, tugging him away from Ari's dead body. We only make it a few feet down the tunnel before the ceiling splits open and a hovercraft picks up the District 9 boy. I blink rapidly as I try not to think about what his friends and family back home might be doing right now.

Ari will never smell spring again. He'll never see a sunrise again, he'll never run his hands over smooth fabric, and he'll never pet a dog. He won't hear his friends' voices, or his parents' laughs. He won't feel the earth underneath his feet, or taste a sweet fruit or a fresh loaf of bread. None of the dead tributes will . . . and who knows? Most likely, I won't either. Only one of us will make it out of the arena – only one of us will wake up in the morning to a beautiful, bright, and hopeful sun.

I glance at Moss out of the corner of my eye. He's muttering to himself and chewing on his nails. Well, maybe I'm not entirely correct. Even if Moss wins . . . he's too far gone to ever truly appreciate _hope _again. No one in these Games will escape unscarred. The Victor may not be alive . . . they may only be surviving.

Is it really my place to judge, though? I haven't killed anyone yet. I mean, whoa, a person in the Games who hasn't murdered someone? Well, it's true. I've _hurt _people, but I haven't ended their lives. I don't have blood on my hands, like the others. Like Moss. Maybe that's what's driven him insane: the killing. The fact that he doesn't know whether or not what he's done is right or not.

I wish I could say that in the Games, we kill because we're saving our allies. That we're killing to save the people we love, both in and out of the arena. But what it really boils down to is that we kill simply because we value our lives more than those of our victims. How many people is it okay to kill in order to keep ourselves alive? At what point do we lose our minds, our souls, and our hope – if we haven't already?

Moss suddenly pulls me to his chest in a bone-crushing hug, smothering my face. I mumble awkwardly against his body, totally uncomfortable with the embrace. "Am I going to be your next strangle victim?" I grumble sarcastically.

"You're my last ally," he says slowly, as if he can't believe it. He looks shattered. "You're my last . . . my last straw . . ."

"Pull it together, man," I snap back to my normal attitude, pushing the image of Ari out of my head for just a moment. My voice is hoarse from screaming, and I have a massive migraine, but I'm still Aella Dekas. Underneath the bandages covering half my face and the battle axe in my hand that's trailing along the floor . . . _I'm still just District 5's resident tomboy. _Will I ever be anything but? Do I _want _to be anything but?

Moss keeps muttering to himself, so I push myself away and slap him. He looks surprised, and for a second I see a moment of clarity in his bright eyes – but it's gone, just like that. Moss is hollow.

What would his brother think? Would Maris rather his brother come home, shattered and hollow . . . or would he rather Moss die himself? I'm scared for my ally, and I tell him this. He just gives me a confused look, furrowing his eyebrows.

"Just . . . promise me," I say, "when you get out of the arena alive . . ."

"Shh," he says hurriedly. "No, no, that won't happen -"

"Shut up Moss, I'm trying to give an inspirational speech," I slap him again. I don't even think he feels it anymore. "When you become Victor, promise me -" his attention drifts, so I grab his jaw in both my hands, much like I did when he had his first breakdown. "Dammit Moss, your attention span is worse than that of a mushroom!"

He just shrugs.

"When -" he gives me a look, "fine, _if _you win, promise me you won't let yourself go. No drinking," I see him focus on my words, "no smoking, and no drugs. Got it? It's not fair that you would win, and then waste your life."

His eyes narrow. "Only if you promise me the same."

I frown. "Fine. I promise."

"I promise too," he says softly. I give him a tight grin, and then we collect ourselves and are off on our way, through the twisting tunnels of the underground labyrinth that could either be our salvation or our demise.

Who knows? In a few days time . . . this could all just be a distant memory. The real question is: _Whose _memory?

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><p><strong>Thank you to the AMAZING nightfuries who made this list for me to give to all of you. Make sure to thank her!<strong>

Sapphire Tree, District 9 Female: knife stabbed into throat by Hyre Fletching

Relk Stein, District 6 Male: spear thrust into stomach by himself

Vaughn Shumway, District 11 Male: spear to the chest by Boston Williams

Skye Azurite, District 1 Female: knife stabbed into stomach by Lilly Cross

Maia Spring, District 8 Female: dagger flung into back by Aleah Armani

Clude Miller, District 12 Male: knife thrown into stomach by Onyx Marshal

Onyx Marshal, District 2 Female: knife stabbed into stomach by Hyre Fletching/herself. Counted as Hyre Fletching's kill.

Rena Sage, District 6 Female: knife to the head by Elia Zervakos

Mack Tully, District 3 Male: torn apart with knife by Claus Hendall

Tara Tremain, District 12 Female: sword through chest, hammer to head by Boston Williams

Oak Loaker, District 8 Male: suffocated by Boston Williams

Boston Williams, District 10 Male: trident to the chest by Elia Zervakos

Lilly Cross, District 11 Female: died from infection of wound given to her by Skye Azurite

Roy Rousseau, District 1 Male: died from stepping into fire set by himself, could count as killed by Aspen Checkov

Aspen Checkov, District 7 Male: died from throat slit by Aleah Armani

Hyre Fletching, District 2 Male: died from injuries/trident spearing by Elia Zervakos

Ari Locus, District 9 Male: died by strangulation by Moss Dorian

**Summary of tributes still alive:**

District 1 – None

District 2 – None

District 3 – Jules Surket

District 4 – Elia Zervakos, Moss Dorian

District 5 – Claus Hendall, Aella Dekas

District 6 – none

District 7 – Nella Burchalyn

District 8 – none

District 9 – none

District 10 – Aleah Armani

District 11 – none

District 12 - none


	58. Master of These Games

**Bells:**

**AH, THE TWIST IN THIS ONE IS CRAZY. I'M STILL TRYING TO GET OVER IT LIKE, A MONTH LATER.  
><strong>

**Enjoy. (: That includes our authors, too. Trust me, they're just as in-the-dark as the rest of ToB's readers at the moment. *evil giggle***

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><p><strong>Gamemakers<strong>

**By Phoenix Refrain**

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><p><em>"The outcome of chaos can never be predicted. The only certainty it brings is the devastation it leaves in its wake."<em>

_—_Emily Thorne from_ Revenge. _Season 1, Episode 15,_ "Chaos"_

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><p>I have spent years working on this, perfecting it for precisely this moment. I wanted something that would make them never forgot <em>me;<em> never forget that they are completely at my mercy—at the mercy of the glorious Capitol.

We have only ever been kind to them, and yet they never saw it that way. They did not appreciate what we were doing to help. They through the gifts we gave him in our face and rebelled against—causing the Dark Days.

I can feel the heat of anger spread through my body, reaching my fingers and my toes and spreading like I'm standing in flames. I feel something stir inside of me and I try to soothe it, try to make myself regain control. Control is vital, it is the tool that has brought me this far. Without it, I would have never gotten here and never been able to come to this moment.

I have waited all my life for this, and now I stand on the precipice.

My heart pounds in my ears as I look into the mirror to adjust my make-up. The topaz eyes look back at me so clearly. I remember when I got them changed all those years ago. I was tired of looking into the mirror everyday to see _those_ eyes. I was tired of hearing my mother say how much they reminded me of my father. One day I'd had enough of it.

But I never have escaped him.

I smooth the swirls of oranges and yellows of my hair back sleekly down my back, but the end twists up again as if it has it's own mind. My fingers deftly reapply the orange and yellow hues with hints of blue to my eyelids.

I look back down at my hands as I remember again what I'm about to do. The corners of my mouth tilt into a pleasurable smile. _I am the master of these games._

They view these games punishment, as a horror for rebelling against a dictator but they don't understand how easy they really have it. They don't realize how _fortunate_ they are that I am not their President—that I was not the one who made the decision of the games nearly twenty-five years ago. They don't understand that these games are hardly cruel considering what they deserve.

How dare they revolt against us? We have taken care of them, we have clothed and fed them more than they deserve. Yet, they still rebelled, still called us their slavers. Ungrateful, idiotic leeches. They do not understand that their survival is at our whim. At any moment, we could completely destroy them like we did Thirteen.

Unfortunately, we need them to help us to survive. We are dependent on them to provide for us, just as they are dependant on us to manage them. Without us, they had starved—they had fought and warred because they were incapable of managing themselves. By separating them, by pitting them against each other we finally had them divided enough to keep them from destroying themselves.

I have never understood why they were such bloodthirsty, ungrateful creatures. All they have to do is listen, but they don't. They never do.

I pull at the collar of my suit to adjust it against my throat as I sit down at my desk. I take a drink of hot coffee and shuffle through the mess of notes on my desk. I've been here all night making sure that everything will happen just as planned. A decade-old idea finally going to be used. So what if it's personal? It makes it that more amazing, more fulfilling now that it's going to happen—and today of all days.

It's perfect.

I straighten the notes all back into a pile, tapping the edges on the corner of the desk to get them all perfectly straight. Somehow that simple action relieves the stress in my chaotic mind. It helps me to put things back into the proper light, to see clearly again what I have lived twenty-five years for.

Today is the epitome of the games. A time of repentance and a time of thanks. Today, I can thank myself for coming this far by giving myself the birthday gift which is second on my list of wishes—the first is impossible. I get to make them pay for killing my father on this day, for taking him from me on the day I was born. The last one to die in the Dark Days—the last one to pay for their stupid, petty Rebellion.

They blame the Capitol for the Games. But all they need to do is look in the mirrors. All they need to do is look at themselves, because today I get to make them pay. They took my father, I will kill their children. If they're lucky—they'll get them back, broken invaluable replicas of the child they once loved and will never see again.

There's a knock at the door, and without consent she comes in. She's the only one that's allowed to do it that doesn't outrank me. Maybe it is an impropriety, but it is also a familiarity I don't want to live without. It feels oddly like something I haven't granted myself to have—_love. _

"Phoenix, they're ready for you." She looks at me clearly, her full lips pressed together. "Do you need anything?" She asks it almost softly. From anyone else it would an assault on my strength or my character. But I do not doubt her intentions, I have never doubted hers.

"I'm ready," I pull myself heavily to my feet—the impending task weighing heavily on my mind. I square my shoulders as Bells adjusts a stubborn flipped end of my hair before laying her hands gently on my shoulders.

"Happy Birthday, sister mine," she whispers.

I stroke her dark hair, look into the eyes that are a darker shade than mine. She looks entirely different than me, and yet so similar—just in the likeness of the mother we share. The turquoise hue of their hair highlights her eyes, and the light tattoos around her eyes are so familiar to me that I can see them whenever I close my eyes. "Thank you, dear," I say in the tone reserved for her.

I walk out of the office with her following behind me. The slap of my boots against the pavement causes the Gamemakers in the control room to work harder. Only a few of them even discreetly glance at me—except that Meeg girl. She's openly gawking. I'll have a…talk with her later.

We exit the large room and move into a beautiful room where the press awaits. Flash bulbs go off in my face, they want to know everything we will tell them about what we have in store for the tributes. They're intrigued to know more about me. They want to ask me about my husband's sudden and _unexpected_ death that moved me from an intern of three years to Head Gamemaker. But I smile and ignore them, there are some stories you just don't tell—some questions that shouldn't be answered. People don't really want to know the truth.

But then, my husband had known the truth all the time. He always use to say that my "lips were poison, and your lips are wine." I wonder if he ever realized, he was right about one of them?

They pin a small microphone to my chest as the smile creeps across my face, the bright crimson lipstick remnant of vibrant roses. The camera focuses in on me and everyone goes absolutely quiet.

My voice is low, so that they almost have to lean in hungrily for my words. "I hope you've been…enjoying the 24th Annual Hunger Games. I've not been Head Gamemaker for long, but I promise you that…I have some surprises up my sleeve. My husband may have been predictable," I cast my eyes down in fake sadness. "But I am not. You are not prepared for what happens next." I nod my head at Bells who flips a switch.

"Moss, Aella, Claus, Aleah, Nella, Elia, and Jules. I think it's time I'm honest with you," the screen is focused in on each of their terrified faces and stays with them as I go on. "When you were injected with a tracker, we gave you a dose of L793T1. It's drug that will slowly send each of you spiraling into insanity. You'll be fully crazed by the morning of day eleven without it. As you all know, it's day nine already."

I pause as the horror appears on their faces, "I realize that some of you think I'm…lying. Take that risk if you want. But remember Roy. Remember Boston. And Claus…you're not feeling too…well, now, are you? Maybe it's too late for you already." The smile creeps further across my face.

"At the Cornucopia, there's seven vials. One vial for each of you. They're there now, and they'll only be there for two hours. Start running and remember, stealing what's not yours in the arena isn't against the rules. So why limit yourselves to one?"

The announcement ends, and I take off the microphone and head back to my office with Bells beside me. I ignore all questions and all the stares as I fully take in the looks of terror I saw on the tributes faces. I will never forget those looks as long as I live.

Bells leans forward gently, "Did it turn out how you wanted?"

"Better than I've ever imagined," I smile as my mind wanders as I lean back, my long fingers stroking over my stomach. A smile breaks across my face as there's a strong kick that pushes from inside of my womb. A strong, beautiful boy. I will teach him to hate them, teach him what they did to his grandfather. He must know the necessity of the Games.

I push myself up heavily from the chair, "You're going to be brilliant and powerful, just like your mommy, Coriolanus Snow. "


	59. Let The Record Show

**We've got our next tributes reaped and getting ready. Be afraid, very afraid-we have something amazing planned for _Bring Them To Their Knees. _ Ari's death on shot will be up Thursday! I was going to put it up tonight, but I'm super sick and I'm trying to get an emergency appt at the doctors since I've lost 8lbs in 5 days from being so sick. Lot of stuff is going on in my (Nina/Phoenix) life right now-missing cat of my parents, sick, stressed, behind on my own updates. So I really want to say thank you for being here. Just knowing that you guys are here waiting for updates and such has convinced me to uncurl from my fetal position to write some and keep updates up. So thanks for that. **

**Also, could be I'm carrying Coriolanus Snow...I kid! XD**

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><p><strong>Aleah Armani, District 10<strong>

**By cottoncandychoctop**

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><p>"<em>The distance between insanity and genius is measured only by success."<em>

—Bruce Feirstein

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><p>The second I hear the annoyingly piercing voice of our head Gamemaker, I begin to move.<p>

I'll admit, this new extremely melodramatic Gamemaker twist was something that even _I _never saw coming. I mean, injecting tributes with an insanity virus at the same time as you're giving them their trackers, what masochistic son of a bitch _thinks _of something like that? Don't get me wrong, it'll have those Capitol audiences pissing themselves in anticipation, but you would seriously have to have had an incredibly fucked up childhood to make you so messed up that you'd enjoy doing something like this to kids. You know that if _I, _someone whose moral compass is pretty much facing east, think that something is extreme, it would probably seem unfathomable to everyone else.

But thinking about it, everything seems to make _so _much more sense now. This whole insanity thing explains _so_ much. While I thought that it was completely feasible that all these morons were going off the deep end simply because their inconsequential mental capacities were being strained, I suppose it makes sense that something was causing all those halfwits to lose it. Like how absolutely, deliriously round-the-bend Roy had seemed before we had taken him out, how uncharacteristically 'Jekyll and Hyde' that prick from five had appeared when I had checked up on the Careers before and how pathetically, stupidly love-struck Nella and Aspen had been. Mind you, I suppose all of those could have simply been because they all actually _are _crazy, in fact that makes just as much sense. I know for a fact that Boston was definitely pre-psychotic a long time before anyone injected him with any kind of virus, perhaps the infection just sped up the whole snapping process. But there's absolutely no questioning the fact that that brute was completely deranged from the get-go.

But, let the record show, I've had just as much exposure to this virus as anyone else yet I would quite confidently say that my mental capacities have in no way been depleted. Seriously, ask anyone I've had any contact with over the entire Games and they would tell you that my brain has been working on absolute overdrive this whole time with not so much as a falter. I mean yes, I have been on edge for a while now, and possibly a tad on the paranoid side as of late, but I wouldn't be anywhere near as dog-barking mad as some of the others appear to be. Mind you, none of these morons are even in my intellectual league, so I guess it makes sense that mentally, I'd be one of the strongest. Mind you, perhaps this whole crazy drug thing can explain some of my more...uncharacteristically brainless actions over the last few days. Oh, and the flashes. But besides that, I am perfectly stable, both physically and mentally.

As I dart through the forest, the scenery around me turning into a blur of rich greens and soft browns, I think about what my approach towards this feast is going to be. I've watched my fair share of Hunger Games; I know the drill with the whole feast thing. There are basically three types of people who actually end up getting anything out of a feast: people who travel in large packs and can use their numbers to fight off any other potential threats, people who are ten feet tall, buffed-up brutes who can just slaughter anyone in the path, and the people who get to that round metal table before anyone else. Since I am in no way either of the former, it is absolutely imperative that I get to that table first, either that or end up some raving lunatic for the rest of my life.

Two hours that twat of a Gamemaker had said, two hours before I go completely bonkers and totally lose my mind. I know this terrain better than anyone, I've mentally mapped pretty much the whole thing, excluding that underground area, and from what I can remember I can estimate that I'm approximately a ten minute run from the Cornucopia, assuming I sprint like all hell to get there. Which I do, this is one thing that I am prepared to not think twice about. I don't know how many cures there will be on that table, but I know for sure that whoever manages to beat the rest of us there will have no moral qualms about making sure the rest of us don't get any.

I sprint through the forest as fast as is physically possible, not even bothering to brush away the infuriatingly pointless little twigs that are in my path and scraping against my skin. In the tossup between getting a few scratches and living the rest of my life one hundred percent insane, I choose the former. Shocking, I know. I ignore the fact that my legs feel like they're on fire and take no notice of the throbbing in my shoulder from where that bastard from Seven had stabbed me a few days back, just letting myself ride the adrenaline wave and making myself repress any pain.

Out of nowhere, my eyes roll back in my head, and all of a sudden I'm staring into blackness. I grip onto a tree frantically to make sure that I don't fall flat on my face and try to figure out what the hell is making this happen to me so often. I know what's going to happen next, this has been happening for the last couple of days, where out of nowhere I would blackout for a moment, and my mind would race through my memories, pictures and images flashing in my brain. And just like normal, here my infected brain goes again, taking me back to moments I have absolutely no interest in revisiting. This time, for some stupid, unknown reason, my stuffed up brain decides to flash me back to my last moments with those pathetic tributes from Seven, the memories flickering in front of my eyes at a mile a minute.

It had been a strategic move on my part, deciding to stick around with Aspen and Nella after I found them post that goddamn ginger's second major fire. I had suffered a few tiny burns on the back on my left shoulder blade, but apart from that, I had come out of our fight practically unscathed. The only issue was that I had been slightly...shall we say...disoriented from all the smoke inhalation and was stumbling around, probably resembling something along the lines of someone completely smashed off their face drunk. So when I had stumbled across the little love-birds all cuddled up in their nest later on in the day I had been immediately on my guard, until Nella had started raving about how well _our _plan had worked, like she had so much to do with it, how happy she was that no one on _our _team had been killed and how glad she was that _we _now outnumber the careers. While I was pretty damn sure that Aspen was absolutely _enthralled _to see me, Nella seemed to be under the impression that we were still allies, and if she was prepared to keep playing along with the absolute facade of an alliance, it was still in my interests.

My reasons for sticking around with Nella and Aspen were basically three-fold:

Despite the fact that we had taken out Roy, the rest of the Careers were still out there scattered around the arena somewhere, and while I currently had had no knowledge of their whereabouts, it was definitely smart to stick with a pack, just for the sake of keeping my head on my shoulders.

Now that the Career pack was scattered and leaderless, thanks to a somewhat ingenious plan by yours truly...no really, hold your applause, I had eliminated one of the two biggest threats to me. But after using them as my brainless muscle, it was no longer in my interests to let the Anti-Careers join back up. Lord knows I am not their combined favourite person, and while I am good, I don't think I'm quite good enough to take on four-on-one odds and come out unscathed. If I could keep an eye on Aspen and Nella for a while I could make sure that they _didn't_ manage to rendezvous with Blondie and Pretty Boy, dividing the second strongest alliance in the games.

At this point, I could still at least feign some attachment to Nella and use it to keep the rest of the Anti-Careers off my back for a while. Whilst I still appeared to pose no threat to them, they wouldn't worry about me all that much, however the moment I decided to sever those ties, I had imagined that a very big target would appear right between my eyes, and at this point enough people had wanted me dead as it was. For then at least, I had needed to slip back under their radar for a while.

The thing is, that after spending a few blissful hours on my own I had forgotten just how much I had wanted to drive a rock into Nella's skull every time she opened her mouth. But oh, don't you worry, I learnt my lesson the second we were left alone together for a few moments.

"Well, your plan worked," she had said with a tone that conveyed fake congratulations, "Roy's dead. What on earth will you do with yourself now that you don't have someone to aim all your murderous thoughts on?"

I had laughed at her menacingly, "Oh, don't worry about me Nella; there are still plenty of other targets out there to plot against. Nine in fact, if my counting's correct."

"Of course your counting's correct," she said with a small roll of her eyes, "but if it came down to it, do you really think you would kill all nine of us, just so you could win? Would winning be worth it?"

Oh god, here we go again with all that morality crap. How hard is it to get this idea through all of their thick, martyr-loving heads? Living, good. Dying, bad. It is _so damn simple. _Looking back, perhaps this insanity virus had some suicidal component to it because the concept of self-preservation seemed to be like another language for all these morons.

"Without a doubt," I had answered coolly, "It's survival of the fittest out here, only the strongest will survive. Now I may not be six foot ten and weigh three hundred freaking pounds, but that's not the only form of strength. When it comes down to it, I know what I want and I will do whatever I have to do to make sure that I get it. These games aren't about compassion or friendship like so many of you idiots seem to want so desperately to believe. They are about cruelty, and selfishness and ultimately, murder. If you can't put any moral qualms behind you when the time comes then you won't make it out of here alive, and unlike some, living is the _only _thing that matters to me."

Nella's head had drooped, and she had ever so quickly glanced over at her boyfriend like some poor, love-struck fool. I can't say I had any sympathy for them: you don't want to have to make the hard decisions about killing people you actually give two shits about, try taking a page from my book and treating people like absolute pariahs. It pretty much eliminates any of those inconsequential friendship issues. Heartless, who me?

"Maybe you do deserve to win," she had whispered in a resigned way, "You're the only one who'd be able to live with what she's done. You're the only one who deserves to _have _to live with everything you've done."

I had laughed darkly at that. "As long as I'm alive, I'm happy with that." Seriously, this chick had needed to work on her insults: she tries to judge me for being a soulless, inconsiderate bitch, and yet all she manages to do is play to my strengths. Pathetic.

"How can you just _not _have a conscience?" she asked, though it didn't seem to be directed at me, more towards the universe.

"How can you just _not _have a brain?" I had replied mimicking her annoyingly shrill voice exactly, "Can you blame me for being rational about this rather than getting all bogged down in feeble emotions?"

She hadn't responded to that, just looked away from me with her face set on something that looked very eerily like disgust. God, these people and their sensitivities, no wonder it was so hard to find even one intellectual among them, they are all so melodramatic, like they're all part of some huge Greek tragedy. Insert eye roll here.

"I'm smart," she had declared fiercely as she turned around to face me, "More intelligent than you would ever know. And believe me, I know that you are, too; you wouldn't have made it this far without being deceptively bright. But there is a difference between being naturally brainy, like me, and being smartly cruel, like you. What you claim is rational is actually just ruthless, callous even, and coming from anyone else it would sound unfathomably horrible. But what's worse is that somehow, I don't know how, the words that come out of your mouth actually make sense. I can see how you think like you do, even if to me, it is appalling. But you're still wrong. People matter. What's the point of living if you're going to live your life completely emotionally isolated from the rest of the world? Why bother if you feel nothing but hate for all of humanity?"

I had been lightly chuckling throughout her whole rant, loving how easily she became frustrated with herself and how much she stressed over each word that came from her mouth. How strongly she wanted to convince me and herself that what she was saying was true, despite the fact that it was all a load of bull.

"Why live?" I had said in between my laughing, "Because living seems a whole lot more entertaining than dying, and a lot less painful as well. Besides, my life is the only thing I have left to fight for, and you can bet your bottom dollar that I'll fight like hell for it. I've absolutely no interest in dying anytime soon, Nella, and if it means taking you and your boyfriend down in the process, then so be it."

I had been in absolutely no mood to debate out retrospective philosophies about the meaning of life, especially when hers was so droll and unimaginative, plus I really couldn't stand to listen to her terribly high-pitched voice any longer, so I attempted to try and deflect her attention onto the only other person around.

"Look, Nella, if you think people are so bloody brilliant why don't you go share some precious moments with your loving boyfriend over there," I had said, gesturing towards Aspen who had recently returned from collecting water, "Besides, the clock is ticking on your time together. Perhaps you should make the most of it."

She had sighed and walked away, probably deeming me a hopeless case, and flung herself into Aspen's open embrace. As he wrapped his arms around her he had looked over her shoulder and straight at me with a hard, cold look. He had obviously heard more of our conversation that he was letting on, and despite the fact that Nella didn't seem to recognise just how serious I was about killing them if needs be, Aspen understood me perfectly. His eyes were distrusting and calculating as he took me in, probably trying to figure out whether or not I had another use for them, because if I didn't, I would become an immediate threat to them. To his credit, his wariness of me showed me that he was probably much more intelligent than I gave him any credit for. I had known it was going to happen soon, get to the point where he and I would have to have it out; it was always going to happen. The only variable was which one of us would make the first move. We were both so terribly cautiously aware of the other over that next day, I guarded around him and him wary of me, yet somehow, all of this seemed to just float over the top of Nella's air-filled head.

And I suppose, in the end, he had been right to be wary of me. Just like he had suspected I had attacked, and we had had it out. What I hadn't anticipated was him pulling an Onyx on me and going suicidal, not that I didn't appreciate it. In retrospect, I attribute my actions prior to killing him to the whole 'infected by an insanity virus' thing, because there is no way that anything that District Seven clone said would have affected me like it did if I hadn't been severely drugged up on something. Obviously anyone in this game would have to be certifiably mad to promise not to hurt someone like I had, but the thing was I don't give my word often, and insanity virus or no, when I give my word truthfully, I keep it. Even though Aspen knew that when I promised not to hurt Nella it was a promise that could only be kept for so long, I planned on not laying a finger on that blabbering, doe-eyed girl unless we were the only two people left in the arena. And so far, I hadn't broken my word.

Damn it, how can I keep letting this happen to me? You think a person would be entitled to have some control over which direction their brain decides to go in, but apparently the Gamemakers get to manipulate even that. I have got to get some control back over my thoughts; seriously, I am _not _as weak as the rest of these imbeciles, I am _not _going to go off the deep end. Luckily, my blackout had only lasted a few seconds, but as it was, each passing moment could be the difference between life and death, or at least the death of my mental capacities. I pick up the pace even more, ignoring the clouds in my vision and the throbbing of my brain against my skull.

It takes me approximately five more minutes to reach the fringe of the forest line, but from there I have to be more hesitant. Looking across the wide, empty landscape out in front of me, I can't see anyone else around, but that doesn't mean that there isn't someone waiting in the wings for the chance to pounce on some desperate, unsuspecting tribute.

You know, this feast could have really been something to behold if everything had gone to what I imagine was the Gamemakers' plans. The surroundings would have made for the perfect stage: each of us poor tributes scampering around aimlessly, trying oh so desperately to find our way through that impenetrable maze to the Cornucopia and those precious vials that would restore our sanity. And then for those of us lucky enough to grab one of those mind-restoring salvations that were so priceless to us all, we would have had to face the added horror of making it _out _of the maze alive before some poor infected madman came and tore us limb-from-limb.

High drama had always been somewhat of a trademark for Gamemakers, but this was pushing it to new limits. I imagine that when they all sat around their gold-encrusted Gamemaker conference table and read out their pre-made 'Top ten ways to torture unsuspecting tributes' list, this whole insanity-plus maze affair would have ranked pretty highly. But, even our omniscient Gamemakers couldn't have accounted for some raving mad, pyromaniac ginger to come along and completely torch the whole damn thing. So instead of a magnificent hedge maze to confuse and conceal us, all that stands around the cornucopia is an empty landscape of burnt leaves and thick, black ash. I know, highly anticlimactic.

I'll admit, the Cornucopia looks rather bare standing there all alone, now that all those weapons and supplies that had been scattered around it on the day of the bloodbath were all gone. Someone out there had to be pretty well-stocked, considering the sheer volume of all the food that was scattered throughout the maze that first day. I myself had picked up plenty when I had the chance, and my supply of long-life food was only just beginning to be depleted, but what I had nabbed wouldn't have even been a fraction of all the supplies out there. Mind you, I suppose we can once again thank our dearly departed pyromaniac for that excellent display on bloodbath day, he probably turned most of those life-saving snacks into cinders. Well, I guess that would have been all fine if you didn't mind eating your bread a little crispy and your meat well-done.

I manage to position myself so that I am looking dead-straight in front of that large silver table standing in front of the mouth of the Cornucopia. There's probably about two hundred metres between my current position on the fringe of the trees and that table, definitely enough room for me to get in and out quickly enough, assuming that some moronic brute doesn't get in my way in the process. From here, I can see that there are still seven glass vials of clear, thick liquid sitting on that table, practically screaming 'come drink me.' I guess I really shouldn't be surprised that I'm the first one here, who else was ever going to beat me to it?

I reach somewhat of a dilemma. There are two options for me here: go out into the open, making myself a clear target, in the hopes that I can get over to the table, drink a vial, and get out before anyone else shows up. Or simply wait it out till everyone else has come and taken their vial then go in at the end, hoping that someone had left me a vial. I know, they're both just so flawless it's impossible to choose, right? I hate to have to put myself in any kind of risky position, especially when there are so many uncontrollable variables at stake, but the chances are that if I wait it out there won't be a vial for me to take. So, I take a deep breath, hope to god that the rest of those idiots are having some kind of mental breakdown over how to tie their shoelaces, and dart out into the open.

Getting to the table is the easy part; I dash through the embers and the ash and I'm there within thirty seconds without hearing so much as a whisper from anyone else. The small glass vials are each filled with a thick-looking clear liquid, and capped with a rubber stopper to prevent any spillages. If my mental biological clock hadn't been ticking in my head I would have found it almost ironic that something so small was going to stop me from completely losing it. I quickly wrap one of my hands around the small glass vial, unstopper it and gulp down the liquid. It tastes like freaking acid running down my throat, and thank fate that I don't have a very strong gag reflex, because seriously, the stuff was absolutely vile.

As the cure is dripping down my throat, I am secretly hoping beyond hope that this isn't something that was going to kill me, because that would have really pissed me off. I can practically imagine the sneer of absolute delight on that despicable Gamemaker's face as she announced something along the lines of, "Yes, it'll cure your insanity...by killing you." Oh the irony would be unbearable. But luckily, besides the feeling of wanting to hurl, nothing appears to be killing me, so I just have to trust that death-by-poison would be too anticlimactic for them and that they'd want me around a little longer. Finally, my vial is empty, and I manage to stomach all of the putrid liquid. That's it, then. This madness is over. I'm cured.

Now the only remaining question, one that for me is almost physically painful to have to decide: do I decimate the rest of these vials, guaranteeing the fact that I would be the only sane person left in this arena? I'll admit, the temptation is there, and as crazily entertaining as it would be to watch the rest of those moronic tributes actually fly off the handle, I resist. Destroying these vials would ultimately be a negative thing for me. Anyone who got even a glance of me out here would know that I was the one who did it, and it would put a very big target on my back, and as much as I would _love _having six raving mad tributes vying over which one got to kill me, I didn't really feel like having to deal with that.

However, if I only took a few, it would mean that a certain number of tributes wouldn't be able to keep a hold of their sanity, which was obviously the smartest thing to do in my position. But at the same time, if I took too many, the other tributes would come hunt me down for the vials I had in attempt to save themselves from a life of insanity.

There are six vials left, not including the one I had already drained, so I decide to limit myself to only taking one, that way no one would have any inclination to come track me down and kill me, which sounded like a lovely prospect. I quickly grab one of the remaining vials, stuff it into the pack on my back and turn around to leave...

Only to see Moss running towards me, his huge broadsword raised above his head. Brilliant, just what I wanted to have to deal with right now.

I quickly throw one of my smaller knives out towards him, and though he manages to dodge it, it gets him to hesitate a little. Aella is following him, her hands choking the hilt of her huge, double-headed axe. I immediately retreat back to the table and hold my knife out in front of the remaining five vials.

"Take one more step and I will smash each and every one of these," I say calmly, moving my knife even closer to the vials to show them I am in no way joking. Moss stops dead in his tracks, his eyes bulging a little as he takes in the sight of me about to destroy his only chance at regaining reason. Aella comes to his side and stops next to him, watching me with a wary glare.

"Don't do something stupid, Aleah," Moss warns, the huge muscles in his forearm pulsing as he tightens his grasp on his sword.

I roll my eyes at him, "_Me? _Do something _stupid?_ I think out of the two of us, Moss, I'd be the one much more _un_likely to do anything idiotic."

"You're outnumbered, Aleah," Aella cautions. How nice of her to point that out for me, I hadn't noticed. It's good to see that she's mastered the art of counting to two. "Take the chance you've got and run before we kill you."

"Right, so that you can sink an axe into my back when I turn around? I don't think so," I say with a small laugh, "Besides, axe or no axe, do you really think you can take me on, Blondie? Right now, I'm the only person in this arena who is not certifiably insane. Would you go up against that?"

Her eyes tighten at the mention of the nickname, and she looks like she's about to charge me when I wiggle my knives a little closer towards the vials, keeping her in line. As it is, I was more than positive that the two of them together _could _take me, but I needed to make sure that I didn't show a chink in my armour. Moss is pretty much a Career, and Aella had trained with that axe of hers before. Me, I'm good, but this would be pushing it. As it is, I know what their weaknesses are and where they'd both been injured, which gave me an edge to use if it actually came to a fight. But whilst I may have the brains in spades, if it came down to brawn, I might just not make it out of here alive, so I am planning on keeping things on a strictly verbal playing field.

"This is how this is going to work," I say authoritatively, "I'm going to smash three of these vials. Then it's up to you whether you chase me down and kill me, or retain your sanity. Your choice."

"You don't get to tell me what to do ever again, Armani," Moss growls through closed teeth, "We're not doing anything you say."

"Well then enjoy living life as a brainless twit," I say nonchalantly, "Although you already know what that's like, don't you, Moss? It's not like you and insanity are strangers."

Moss is absolutely fuming by this point, barely able to keep himself in check. Aella is looking in between Moss and the vials nervously, obviously concerned about how his actions could affect her chances at being cured of the virus.

"Aleah, if you run now, we won't come after you," Aella assures me quickly, "Just go and leave us the vials. Then we can settle this thing later."

"Speak for yourself," Moss spits out, "I'm ending this either way."

"You wouldn't want _another _life on your hands, would you Moss?" I jeer. "Not after you couldn't save Lilly..."

At the mention of Lilly's name, everything in Moss just snaps and the fire is released.

"_That's it!" _Moss roars. "_You're dead!"_

He rushes at me with his sword raised, looking like some homicidal maniac on a murder spree. I smile viciously as I brace myself for the attack I have already completely formulated in my mind. All he sees now is a small, thin girl with a few big knives to defend herself, but that's just what I want. Because the minute he gets near enough, he's going to see that this bitch can really bite.

I give him one more menacing sneer as he gets within arm's reach. Bring. It. On.


	60. Down With the Capitol!

_**Sorry the update is late. I'm sick, stressed, missing a cat, and death in the family. **_

_**And here is the reason there will be a Quarter Quell...**  
><em>

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><p>Moss Dorian of District Four<p>

by xXTeamFinnickXx

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><p><em>Not a day goes by that I don't think of you,<em>

_I'm always asking why this crazy world had to lose,_

_Such a ray of light we never knew,_

_Gone too soon."_

_~ Daughtry_

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><p>I've always known Aleah was a bitch. Hell, <em>everyone<em> knew she was a bitch. But this is too much. She's gone too far this time. Maybe it's the insanity talking, but I'm going to end her life. _Right. Now._

Not caring if she smashes the vials or not, I charge at her, my vocal chords resounding an ear-shattering battle cry. My legs carry me faster than they ever have before until I'm close enough to swing.

_SLAM!_

I roll away, tumbling across the grass as my sword is flung from my hand. Aleah does the same, the impact of my body being too much for her to handle. I have no idea how, but the sly girl managed to avoid my blow, bashing into the side of my face with her elbow, sending us both onto the ground. I lean over to spit before glancing at the psychotic bitch again.

"Moss!" Aella shouts.

My eyes find the table by the cornucopia where the vials rest. Aleah never got to smash any of them. Aella catches my gaze and I nod. Instantly, she sprints for the antidote.

"No!" shrieks the girl from 10, getting to her feet and charging at Aella.

"Think again, bitch!" I scream, scooping up my sword and rising quickly, basically throwing my body on Aleah. We go across the ground, rolling on top of each other. My sword is gripped tightly in my left hand while my right holds on to Aleah. I will _not_let her get away.

She has one hand ripping violently at my oily, shaggy hair. The other fumbles for one of her larger knives, but she can't find the hilt.

Finally, we cease to roll, landing with my legs pinning her to the ground. With both hands on the hilt of my sword, I aim straight for her head and jab downwards. Fortunately for her, this crazy stuff is getting to my brain much faster than it should be. Suddenly, there's more than one Aleah. My body is shaking and I miss, my blade sinking into the soil beside her face.

I expect her to squeal or flinch or _something_, but she doesn't. She _laughs._

"You don't get it, do you Moss?" she asks. I shake my head, not in response, but as if to shut her up. Of course, she doesn't listen. "You've _lost_. You can't win. You never even stood a chance."

"Stop it," I mutter, my eyes closing themselves. How she can talk like that while I'm on top of her amazes me.

"What's the matter?" she taunts. "Scared that you've failed? You have a brother, don't you? Maris, isn't it?"

"_Stop it._"

"News flash Moss. You're dead. Maris is dead. There's no hope for you."

"_SHUT UP!_" I bellow, tears violently pouring down my face. "_SHUT THE FUCK UP! YOU DON'T KNOW WHAT YOU'RE SAYING!_"

"But don't I?" I think I see her wink as an object comes barreling towards my face, colliding with my cheek and sending my jittery body to the side. Aleah pulls her fist back and jumps to her feet, taking off in Aella's direction, leaving me behind.

I scream at the top of my lungs, things that don't even make sense. I try to stand, but my legs don't cooperate and I crumple to the grass again. My cries fill the arena, a never-ending wail of agony.

There she is, Aella. A strange liquid is dripping down her face and I know she's reached the antidote. She hears my shouts and whirls around, her ax at the ready, but Aleah is too quick. The large weapon falls from her grasp as Aleah whips out her largest blade, grabbing my ally from her hair and pressing the metal to her throat.

"Look at this, Moss," Aleah mocks. "Another death on your hands. Are you proud yet?"

"_SHUT UP!_" I boom in an outrage. "_AELLA!_"

"Now, now Moss," the bitch carries on. Aella's blue eyes show a mixture of fear and anger and I see her attempt to kick Aleah, but the knife only digs deeper into her throat. "Let's all calm down for a second, shall we? I'm going to let your little girlfriend go and you're going to let me leave in peace, got it?"

I shake my head at the same time as Aella. "Don't," she says weakly, coming out like a raspy whisper. "She's lying."

"Shut it, Blondie. Do we have a deal?"

I stare into Aella's eyes, then Aleah's, then back at Aella's. They are telling me something unmistakable. _Don't trust her,_ they say. _Kill her. She's lying._

So I do the dumbest thing I've ever done. The thing I regret most, even more than volunteering in the first place.

I run at Aleah.

I'm probably one of the fastest tributes left, but apparently I'm not fast enough. Aleah jumps out of surprise, releasing Aella for just a moment. However, she regains herself quickly and whips out a second knife, jabbing it through Aella's abdomen.

"_NO!"_

Aleah grabs one of the few remaining vials and darts away, leaving Aella to fall limply to the ground. I reach her and grab the nearest thing, her ax, and hurl it at the fleeing girl, but my aim is terrible. She disappears into the hedges.

"Aella!" I exclaim, kneeling beside her. She lies on her back, the knife jutting out of her stomach, blood oozing from the wound. "Aella, It'll be okay, we'll be fine, I pro-"

"Stop." she interrupts. Her eyes are closed, but she's awake enough to reach out and grab my wrist. "Don't trick yourself. We both know I'm a goner."

I shake my head viciously, not wanting to accept it. She can't be a goner, she just can't. She's my last peace of sanity, the single thread keeping me from falling into the complete craziness. I can't lose her like I lost Lilly and Ara.

"Aella, you can make it."

"_No._I can't Moss, you know that."

There's a long pause of silence. It takes me a few moments to realize these are her last moments, her last breaths. She has maybe another minute or two. I have to make it count. I have to.

"I meant it," I say hastily. "I meant what I said."

"What?" she answers softly.

"You're _beautiful_. You're the most perfect person I've ever met, inside and out."

She laughs weakly. "Oh, shut up. Stop messing-"

"I'm not messing around!" I shout. "This is serious! Aella, why can't you accept that? Accept that you're a gorgeous person. You were meant to be that way. You weren't meant to hide yourself under those baggy clothes and boyish attitude."

"I did it," she hisses, her tone relaxing as she goes on. "because no one would take me seriously that way. I didn't want to be known as the pretty little blonde girl with the nice ass. I wanted to be known as _me_. As Aella Dekas. I didn't want to hide myself behind layers of make-up or fancy clothes."

I shake my head. I knew one of us had to die sooner or later, but now that it's actually here, I don't know what to do.

"You don't deserve to die," I say quietly. "You didn't deserve to go through this."

"Neither did you."

"Maybe I did. I volunteered for this, Aella. You didn't. You were taken here against your will. It's not fair."

She shakes her head. "You're right. It's not."

Suddenly, I'm filled with anger. Not at Aella or even Aleah, but at the Capitol. I slam my free hand into the dirt, the other still clutching Aella's.

"Moss," she spits out. Her tone is so low that I can barely hear it. "Calm down. You don't like this? The Games?"

I shake my head. "I hate them."

Her eyes pop open and gaze into mine, lingering there for a few moments. She takes a deep breath, making a noise that sounds like it's hurting her to speak, and breathes out, "_Then change it._"

The faint grip she had around my fingers falters, her slightly propped up head falls gently to the grass. My eyes scan her for something, though I'm not sure what. Something to help her I guess. But of course, all I see is an ocean of blood and a beautiful girl.

Everything is silent. Not a creature in the arena makes a sound until the dreaded noise comes.

_BOOM!_

I stare at Aella and wait for something, wait for her to get up. But of course she doesn't do anything. She's dead. It's over. I can feel another tear spring from my eye.

And that's when that last slimmer of sanity inside me vanishes.

"_NO!_" I bellow. "_NO! NO! AELLA!_" Suddenly, I'm not screaming just her name, but others. I don't know why, but I can't control it. "_AELLA! LILLY! ARA! VAUGHN! MARIS! AELLA!_" The tsunami of sobs takes over me as I bury my head in the cloth of Aella's shirt, not wanting to let go of her soft hand.

I don't know how long I sit there. I could be bawling for hours, but time doesn't even seem to exist right now. All I know is that she's gone.

There's a rustle of grass and my head jerks up. Standing there is that boy, one I've seen before. He doesn't even look at me, but at his district partner. Something in his eyes displays sympathy. For me or her, I don't know. And frankly, I don't care.

I remain on the ground looking up at him. I feel my hand slip out of Aella's and onto the hilt of my sword. But I can't kill him. And he can't kill me. Something in the air tells us it's not right.

His eyes finally detach from Aella's body and look at me. We stare at each other for longer then we should before I finally speak up.

"I… I did it," I mumble quietly, but in the eerie silence of the arena, I know Claus can hear me. "I won… I won the Hunger Games."

The boy from district five, the boy standing within feet of his district partner's corpse, readies his weapon, staring at me questioningly. "What are you going on about?" he asks. "There's still more tributes." He backs up, guarding the remaining vials with his life.

"Like that really matters," I say, getting to my feet. The shift of weight makes me dizzy and I stumble forward, closer to Claus. I look up, my oily brown hair falling in front of my eyes, and I begin to laugh. I laugh harder than I ever have in my entire life. My lips twist into a harsh grin as I stare the boy right in the eyes.

"Everyone I cared about… everyone I loved in this damn arena is dead." My eyes find their way over to Aella. The others are there, tending to her wounds. Vaughn and Lilly treat her many cuts while Ara does his best to clean her off. I wait for them to get up and support me. But they won't. They're all dead. Lilly and Ara and Aella, three people that I'd give my life for. Even Vaughn has earned a place in my mourning heart. It's a mystery how a boy I've never spoken to in my life could mean so much to me. "All of them, gone," my fragile voice continues. "So I must have won, right? Isn't that the point of these fucking Games? To tear loved ones away from each other? We see it all the time back home. Those who make it out alive are never the same. I've witnessed it with my own eyes. Family members of survivors being punished, whipped, executed even, all because that victor did something wrong."

My sea-green eyes, having been filled with tears for a few moments now, finally lose control, and like a dam giving way, water pours down my face. Before I know it, a puddle of watery blood floods around my feet.

"You can fight it," my frail voice continues. "You can resist it, but in the end, the Capitol _always_gets their way. No matter how hard you struggle, you can't prevent yourself or those around you from getting hurt. Hell, I bet my own brother, innocent as he may be, is getting beaten as we speak, assuming he hasn't starved to death by now. Why? Because of me. Because I'm not afraid to defy the Capitol. Because I'm sick of them getting more money than they can hold and us getting nothing. Because I'm tired of working my ass off only to give all my money to people who don't even need it. Because I'm not afraid to do this."

Slowly, I shift my body to wherever a camera might be, which isn't hard. This whole arena is bugged with them. I bet there's even one somewhere on the Cornucopia. So that's where I look, right into the giant horn's mouth. Beyond Claus, beyond the table of vials, all the way to the back of the structure. The heavy sword slips out of my grasp and lands softly in the grass as I prepare myself for what I must do. Not for me, and not even for my family, but for those who have died in this arena over the past twenty-four years. Those who still deserve to be living.

_Then change it,_ she told me.

And change it I will.

"Fuck you, President Finn!" I scream at the top of my lungs, my throat on fire from the excess shouting and sobbing I've done in the past few days. "Fuck you, Flickerman and all your little prissy friends. And fuck the whole damn Capitol!"

I wait a few moments for everything to sink in. I stand completely still, trying to take in the fact that I just cursed off the president of Panem. They'll most likely cut off the cameras before this reaches the districts. The Capitol can't let them see what I've done. It would only cause chaos. But I can guarantee that my message has reached the gamemakers who will pass it on to Finn. That thought alone satisfies me, even though I know I may have just cost my brother his life. That last sliver of hope I had that Maris and my father were still alive is gone. They're as good as dead.

When my tears run dry, I shift my gaze back to Claus who is silent and unmoving. He doesn't even blink when I mutter, "Maybe I _am_ insane." I glance down and cough up a bit of blood before looking at him again and saying, "Or maybe I'm the only one who still has his sanity."

With that, I turn and flee, leaving behind my sword, the antidote, and a very confused tribute from District 5. I'm leaving behind a girl who I could trust with my life. A girl who would have my back in any argument. I'm leaving behind all hope that my family is still alive. I'm leaving behind the remainder of my alliance, my family away from home.

But none of that matters. The important thing is that I'm leaving behind a message. A message to the very president himself. A message telling him to change his ways. If he doesn't, there are plenty of other people in Panem that are like me. Plenty of people that are willing to make a stand.

If things don't change, I swear, we'll change them ourselves. I don't care how long it takes. It may be years, decades, centuries. But we won't accept this fate. We won't let these Games continue. Someone will do something. Someone…

Running makes my legs scream with pain, so I take a quick breather. I look up at the sky and bury my head in my hands. Nothing makes sense anymore. Nothing is right. Nothing is the same.

"Moss."

It's Aella.

Aella, the girl who was always there. The girl who wouldn't stop caring. She stands against a hedge in a beautiful white gown, her blonde hair sparkling in the light of the setting sun. "Aella…"

I charge at her, my arms outstretched. But they only wrap around themselves. As quickly as she came, she's gone. I fall into the shrub, landing on my stomach.

Flipping around to lay on my burning back, the sobs come again. I let out a loud roar, not caring who hears me. My cries of agony echo throughout the entire arena. I lost Aella for a second time. She's gone again. And now I'm alone.

I'm all alone.

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><p>AN: You may explode now Connor! XD

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><p><strong>Thank you to the AMAZING nightfuries who made this list for me to give to all of you. Make sure to thank her!<strong>

Sapphire Tree, District 9 Female: knife stabbed into throat by Hyre Fletching

Relk Stein, District 6 Male: spear thrust into stomach by himself

Vaughn Shumway, District 11 Male: spear to the chest by Boston Williams

Skye Azurite, District 1 Female: knife stabbed into stomach by Lilly Cross

Maia Spring, District 8 Female: dagger flung into back by Aleah Armani

Clude Miller, District 12 Male: knife thrown into stomach by Onyx Marshal

Onyx Marshal, District 2 Female: knife stabbed into stomach by Hyre Fletching/herself. Counted as Hyre Fletching's kill.

Rena Sage, District 6 Female: knife to the head by Elia Zervakos

Mack Tully, District 3 Male: torn apart with knife by Claus Hendall

Tara Tremain, District 12 Female: sword through chest, hammer to head by Boston Williams

Oak Loaker, District 8 Male: suffocated by Boston Williams

Boston Williams, District 10 Male: trident to the chest by Elia Zervakos

Lilly Cross, District 11 Female: died from infection of wound given to her by Skye Azurite

Roy Rousseau, District 1 Male: died from stepping into fire set by himself, could count as killed by Aspen Checkov

Aspen Checkov, District 7 Male: died from throat slit by Aleah Armani

Hyre Fletching, District 2 Male: died from injuries/trident spearing by Elia Zervakos

Ari Locus, District 9 Male: died by strangulation by Moss Dorian

Aella Dekas, District 5 Female: died of knife wound by Aleah Armani

**Summary of tributes still alive:**

District 1 – None

District 2 – None

District 3 – Jules Surket

District 4 – Elia Zervakos, Moss Dorian

District 5 – Claus Hendall

District 6 – none

District 7 – Nella Burchalyn

District 8 – none

District 9 – none

District 10 – Aleah Armani

District 11 – none

District 12 - none


	61. You Cured Me

**Hellooo, everyone. Nina has been going through a lot lately, including a terrible sickness that seems to be killing her from the inside out. Let's all wish her good health and send her HEALTHY VIBES, shall we?**

**The last chapter was very heavy, but it's just going to get heavier from here on out. It's _that_ time of the games...**

**Just in case you all didn't know, a 24authors24tributes wiki was created by the lovely Hazelshade12, who will be the author of the District 7 female in the upcoming Quarter Quell! You can find it here: **24tributes24authors . wikia . com /wiki/24_tributes_24_authors_Wiki** (Remove spaces)**

**It's still a work in progress, but it's lookin' good~**

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><p><strong>Claus Hendall, District 5<strong>

**By PumpkinGrin**

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><p>"<em>All our final decisions are made in a state of mind that is not going to last."<em>

—Marcel Proust

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><p><em>Claus, what're you doing? What're you doing?<em>

"Running, what does it look like?"

_Why? Why're you running?_

"I've got two hours." Two hours to get to those vials. Dusk is quickly approaching, and I don't want the darkness that will follow it.

He knows why I'm running. He's known since it was announced over the entire arena. He doesn't want to accept it. _Claus, stop running. Are you insane? Wait, of _course_ you are. Why're you running?_

"This is for both of our sakes. You know that!"

_I don't know what you're talking about. We're supposed to help each other. I'm supposed to help you win! Remember that? Don't you remember?_

"I-I do, and I don't know if it'll work anymore. All I've done is run away, to make sure you can't kill anyone else. This can't work. I can't go through with it."

Tree branches zip past my face, birthing scars and opening old ones. The earthy smell of the forest slams me in the face before disappearing as my feet trample through ferns and other undergrowth. It reminds me of home.

_Claus, listen. There are less than ten left__**. Less than ten. **__You still have a chance to win this, and there's no doubt that you'll need my help. You won't be able to kill everyone by yourself, as the pathetic weakling you are. You need me. Don't do this. Turn around!_

"Shut up!" I gasp. My toes just glide over a tree root, and I keep on running. I don't want to hear him right now. He's distracting.

_Why? __**You promised!**_

"And you haven't done anything for me!" I shout back. "All you've done to me is poke at me with a knife. All these scars are from you. They all could've been on somebody else's body at this point!"

_It's all your fault! You wouldn't let me go after anyone we saw!_

"Too reckless, too noisy, too brash. You would've gotten me killed!"

_You just got scared. Over and over and over, you backed out like some dog with your tail between your legs. You're weak. You can't win. You're nothing!_

"_Shut up!"_

My own voice sends not shivers, but full-on bolts of lightning down my spine. I jerk to a stop, resting my hand on a tree trunk and hunching over to breathe. I barely have food in my stomach, having finished off the bread I received from my single sponsor parachute. I open my mouth and retch, but nothing comes out. I heave and gasp and choke, feeling tears prick at the corners of my tired eyes. I finally catch my breath and resort to an easier pace to breathe at, but I remain standing. I stare down at my muddied shoes and pant legs, remembering all the times I've ran in my life. I've ran to things. I've ran from things. It's always running for me. I can never stop.

I start to run again, ignoring the voice telling me to stop or he'll kill me. I want to see him try. I wonder if he will.

The plain of grass, the awfully familiar plain of grass, creeps into view. I know that I've ran through it more than twice; he finally told me about what he did as me when I was with the Careers.

I jog out of the woodland and into the tall grasses. They've grown since I've been here, so they now swish up against my waist. Whether this is the Gamemaker's doing or not, I don't know. I don't particularly care, unless it's a trap. But it can't be. The only trap set during the Feast is the Feast itself, with luring all the surviving tributes into one area in hopes they'd finish each other off right then and there. I look around me, and I seem to be the only tribute out right now. I hurry, breaking into a run.

What will await me at the Cornucopia is a mystery. This time, thinking about it is making me run faster than ever. I need that vial. I need it.

_Claus, you don't need it!_

"Don't talk to me. I don't want to have to listen to you."

_You're stuck with me either way, buddy. Don't do this. Turn around. I'll make it up to you. I'll kill everyone else for you. I'll win the Games for you, just like that!_

"I never wanted you around," I mutter. "You were only born so you could be with me. Because I was lonely. But I don't care about loneliness right now. I care about getting you out of my head!"

_You know what? Fine. Keep running. I don't care anymore. Get rid of me._

He shuts up and escapes to a door I cannot follow into. Savoring the silence in my mind, I run on. "I'm one step ahead of you."

Finally. The golden horn shimmers in the peach-colored sunlight, a beacon of hope.

It seems that with every step I take, the Cornucopia grows in size. It beckons me to its spacious curvature. The vials. Mine. Finally.

The Cornucopia is so close, I can almost touch it. I can imagine the vials glimmering with their sacred contents. I can see my hands closing around one of them.

I skid around the side to face the mouth of the horn when something stops me dead in my tracks.

Two bodies on the ground, one alive, one not.

Moss and Aella.

My eyes, already sunken and haunted by insomnia-induced bags, pop out of their sockets. I stifle a gasp in my mouth by pressing my lips together. If it was someone else dead, I would spare them a single glance and a thought as to how their last moments would've been. With Aella, my District partner and neighbor for practicality's sake, being the body, I can only stare on in horror.

I watch as Moss, leaning over her corpse, looks up at me with the most despair-ridden eyes I've ever seen. It's like a ghost has pressed its hand against the small of my back, spreading a chill all over me. Moss' own misery is spreading to me, infecting me.

We have a sort of stare-down as I uneasily shuffle towards the small table where the vials are placed on a pedestal. Seven of them, sparkling in the dark sunlight. I can see the liquid in each of them; all of them can kill him.

"I…I did it," Moss murmurs, staring at me with solemn eyes. "I won…I won the Games."

No doubt, he's going mad. The death of Aella has driven him to a place he cannot escape from. "What are you going on about?" I ask warily. "There are still more tributes." My hand tightens around my bludgeon—a proper one this time, constructed of a metal club and a leather grip. I don't want to hit Moss, but I will if I have to.

"Like that really matters." Moss staggers to a stand, taking a few unsteady steps towards me. I instinctively back up toward the vials. He stares at me, lank brown hair falling limp in his sea-glass eyes. He suddenly grins as if he's heard the funniest joke in the world. He starts to laugh, a slow demented sound rising from his throat before it rises in hysteria. He sounds tortured.

The laughter dies down enough for Moss to speak. "Everyone I cared about…everyone I loved in this damn arena...Dead." As if on cue, both of our gazes travel to Aella's frail-looking body, splayed out on the ground like some sort of doll. To think that I had seen her alive not too long ago is unsettling at the very least. Horrifying at the most.

"All of them. Gone." Moss continues, his hoarse voice cracking with pure sorrow and despair. "So I must have won, right? Isn't that the point of these Games? To tear loved ones away from each other? We see it all the time back home. Those who make it out alive are never the same. I've witnessed it with my own eyes. Family members of survivors being punished, whipped,_ executed_ even, all because their victor did something wrong."

He looks up at me with pleading, glistening eyes. It looks like he's demanding an answer out of me, but I have none to give. I open my mouth to speak, but not a word comes to mind.

Moss' eyes shine, and crystalline tears trickle down his bloodstained face. There are a couple at first, until more and more fall onto the dirt we stand on. His face contorts into a mask of agony and sadness so great that even I myself can feel it within me.

"You can fight it." Moss says, just loud enough for me to hear. "You can resist it, but in the end, the Capitol gets their way. No matter how hard you struggle, you can't prevent yourself or those around you from getting hurt. Hell, I bet my own brother, innocent as he may be, is getting beaten as we speak, assuming he hasn't starved to death by now." His face hardens. "Why? Because of me. Because _I'm_ not afraid to defy the Capitol. Because I'm _sick_ of them getting more money than they can hold and us getting nothing. Because I'm tired of working my ass off only to give all my money to people who don't even need it. Because I'm not afraid to do _this._"

Moss begins to move to face the horn of the Cornucopia. Out of instinct, I back up closer to the table of vials, though I know Moss isn't making a move for them. He doesn't have any need for them now.

He looks up at something I can't see, but I automatically know he's looking at a camera. I don't know if he can see it, but it doesn't matter to him. As long as the Capitol hears him, then it doesn't matter. Dropping his sword, he opens his mouth.

"_Fuck you, President Finn!"_ Moss screams, his face twisted in a wild rage. "Fuck you, Flickerman and all your prissy friends. And _fuck _the _whole damn Capitol!"_

Silence cuts through the air abruptly when Moss stops. His chest moves in time with his heavy breathing, brought on by anger and grief and contempt for the Capitol and their sick, twisted ways. His eyes are wide and staring around him, where all the cameras might be. He wants the entirety of Panem to see and hear him. I can only imagine how the Gamemakers and the rest of the nation are reacting. I can see frustration from the Capitol citizens and cheering and applause from those in the Districts. I think I'd be one of the latter.

Moss, apparently satisfied with his outburst, turns to me. I'm stone still, and offering my patience to this grieving and anguished tribute. It's the least I can do. The voice tells me that the most I can do is kill him and end his misery, but I ignore him.

"Maybe I _am_ insane," Moss ponders solemnly, staring me dead in the eye. He pauses to cough; I see specks of blood erupting from his lips. "Or maybe I'm the only one who still has his sanity."

I am tempted to reply. I want to say, "If you _are_ still sane, then I'm jealous," but I decide against it. I don't want to end up provoking him, so I remain quiet and keep on staring. Swallowing on nothing is the only movement I make.

And then, Moss Dorian of District 4 turns on his heel and breaks out into a sprint into the nearby woodland that encloses the Cornucopia. His form is swallowed up into the trees, and I cannot see or hear him anymore.

I know for certain that this is the last time I'll ever see him.

I then turn to Aella and the sword that Moss has left behind. The sword is something I'll want, but it means next to nothing right now. What does matter is Aella Dekas' body lying out in the open. She was my District partner; even though we never really spoke, I know she was a good person. I can imagine her family watching right now, seeing her dead and me still alive.

I don't have a shovel, but I can at least place her in a better place for when the hovercraft picks her up. It's the least I owe her. It's the least I owe her family.

I step over the sword, scoop up Aella's body in my arms, and I walk to the outskirts of the forest, placing her next to a tall tree. Now, it's almost like she's sleeping in the shade at home—as if she's not dead. She looks peaceful.

I stand there for just a minute. I've never given a eulogy, so I don't say anything along those lines. I just stand there and think about what would've happened if none of us had ever been chosen.

_What're you doing?_

He's back. I don't care. I ignore him.

_She's dead. She doesn't matter anymore._

Not a word comes out of my mouth. I think it'll be disrespectful for me to talk while standing so close to Aella.

_Giving me the silent treatment, are you now? How typical. You'll respond eventually._

I grit my teeth, and my hands ball up into fists at my sides.

_You'll respond. You'll talk. You can't resist me, Claus. I know, because __**I **_**am **_**you, too.**_

That's it.

I look down at Aella. "I'm sorry. I'm so sorry," I murmur before I turn around and jog out of the forest.

_Now, Claus, don't you want to think things through? If you take that vial, I won't be around anymore. You'll be alone again, just like you were before. You won't have me to help you kill someone this time._

"Shut up," I snap again for the umpteenth time today. This time, I mean it. I want him to shut up and shrivel up and die. The vials crawl closer to me.

_Claus? C-C'mon, you don't have to do this. C'mon, turn around. We can do this together. We don't need this! This is obviously a trap!_

I marvel at the panic in his voice. He's always been wistful or snarky, but now he's panicking and alarmed and—_scared._

I'm at the table now. Seven vials, all filled with an antidote to the madness that runs within each of the survivor's veins. My hand closes around one of them.

_No, no, stop, don't! __**Don't!**_

I pull out the stopper and raise the vial.

_It-It-It's poison! It'll kill you! Don't drink it!_

So what if it is? Then at least I'll die without him. I bring the vial to my lips.

_Nonononononononono__**nononononoNONONONONO—**_

The antidote slides down my throat like liquid glass. I can taste a sort of melancholy to the substance, but the taste disappears as the antidote travels down to my stomach.

Then comes the most horrible screaming I've heard in all my years of living.

He screeches like an animal being tortured, as if his limbs are being pulled apart. He claws at me, but his hands are misty and pass right through me. I squeeze my eyes shut to keep from him screaming through me, and I struggle with all my might to keep him contained in my head. This will be the last place he'll see before he dies.

The screams die down, until they're faint echoes bouncing about in my mind. The back of my head is pounding like a hellish migraine, but that too subsides after a few seconds. Soon, all I hear are the calls of birds in the tree canopies and the swishing of grass in the wind. All that's left is just withered echoes.

I open my eyes and look around. Everything is silent in there. The room is empty, the door is slightly ajar. Nobody is inside.

I look down at the empty vial in my hand, then toward the remaining six.

Nobody must get them.

I look around, and I spot my club, where I left it in the grass near where Aella's body was. But for some reason, it doesn't appeal to me. Just the thought of destroying each vial with my own hands satisfies me. I think of it as potentially ending four other lives.

So, I head over to the small table, and in a single motion I throw it over. Little glass prisons fly into the air and land into the dirt.

And then I stomp on them. Over and over and over.

I feel the glass resisting to break underneath my shoes, but enough repeated pressure causes them to explode into small shimmering pieces. The antidote splashes out and seeps into the ground, lost forever.

A sudden shuffling behind me snaps me out of my focus. I snap around in alarm to see the District 7 girl, Nella Birchalynn, glaring at me. She bristles when I gaze at her, but I see that she has no weapon.

She glances at the broken table, and the absence of the vials. "The vials. Where are they?" she demands quietly. "Did you take them?"

I stand my ground, poised to lunge for the sword if necessary. "Gone. They're gone," I breathe. "I smashed them. They're all gone."

Nella glares at me with big brown eyes peeking out from unkempt brown hair. She spares a quick look down at the ground behind me, where hundreds of glass shards shimmer on the dirt. She knows it's true, but she doesn't want to believe it. "You have to have one. Where's yours?"

"I drank it," I reply. "See?" I hold up my empty vial.

Nella holds her ground, her eyes alternating between my vial and the remains of the other four behind me. She keeps looking at the two, refusing to believe it. However, after a few seconds, she has no choice but to believe me.

"No…No, it can't be," she mumbles hopelessly, falling to her knees. Her eyes stare at the ground ahead of her, and her lips part as if she's mouthing something.

I blink before cautiously approaching her. She doesn't seem to be dangerous. She seems defeated.

"No," Nella repeats, her voice barely above a whisper. "I…I was supposed to drink one. This isn't real. This…this can't be real. It's just my imagination. It _has_ to be."

I swallow and dare to ask, "What're you talking about?"

Nella looks up at me sharply, surprising me a bit. "This. This all can't be real. He…he isn't dead. I just saw him. He's fine, we're just…we're just separated…"

She's like Moss, I realize. I slowly kneel down and peer at her. "Who…who are you talking about?"

"As—Araucaria…Araucaria, he's dead," Nella whispers, her lips trembling. "He's dead."

She stares at me, right at my eyes. "A-Araucaria…is he still alive?" She inquires, desperation in her voice. I can see in her eyes that she wants to wake up from a terrible dream.

I remember that night, up in the artificial sky, Araucaria Chekhov from District 7 was announced as dead. Even though he was the one that punched me in the face during the Bloodbath an eternity ago, it still felt strange to know that he was dead. Now, I don't know what to feel.

"No," I answer with a shake of my head.

Nella bites on her bottom lip, fighting against saying something. She finally looks back up at me with somber eyes. "Is…Is Aspen still alive?"

Aspen? Who was Aspen?

I realize that this must be a side-effect of the virus in her. She must be confusing Araucaria with someone else.

"No, he isn't," I say.

I had just finished my sentence when tears start pouring down her face. They had been clinging to her lashes before, but now they are rolling down her cheeks. Her eyes look glassy as she silently weeps.

"I can't do this," Nella wheezes, her fingers curling into a fist on her lap. "I can't. Just…please. Kill me. _Please_, just kill me."

The sky is covered in a blanket of dusk now. The orange sun hovers just above the horizon, preparing to duck out of sight. I won't need to rely on the sunlight though. Using a piece of flint I had, we've built a small campfire for heat and light anyway.

I look over from poking at the fire with a stick towards Nella. She's sitting, her knees drawn up to her chin and her arms wrapped around her shins. Her gaze is sullen and almost dead, as if she has gone catatonic. Now that I know that she's lost her District partner and lover, I can understand why. I've sat away from her for a reason. I want to give her some space before we go through with this.

She made me promise. She said that life wasn't worth living anymore, especially in the Games. I tried to console her, but I quickly stopped. I had to remind myself that keeping her alive meant that she was going to be killed by someone else, or one of us would have to kill the other in a fight to the death. The former seemed too cruel to me, even if she was pleading for death, and I didn't want to think of the latter. That was when I realized that this was the only way to go. I had to give her mercy and kill her.

I don't want to, but I know I have to. I promised myself that I would fend for myself from now on when I killed the other voice in me. I can't go back now, right? If I do give up, then that means I lied to myself. And that also most probably means certain death for me. If I can't kill a girl who's asking for death, how am I going to kill someone who is most certainly going to fight back? I promised to get stronger. Doubting myself isn't helping at all. I have to do this. She asked.

"When're you going to do it?" Nella asks me, snapping me out of my thoughts. I look at her, noticing how the light from the fire flickers on her face, giving her an eerie and grim look. "When're you going to kill me?"

I avoid her gaze. "Soon. I'll…do it soon," I murmur. My gut twists and convulses; I swear I'm going to be sick, but nothing comes up. I must be readier than I think. It can't be him…Maybe I've actually changed.

Nella looks down grimly. "I'd like it to be quick. Painless, too, if you can," she says, her voice mingling with the crackling fire.

I'm silent for a few minutes, facing the reality of what I'm going to do. "I'll do my best."

Ten minutes or so pass. The tension is a thin wire, tightening and tightening until it threatens to snap and lash out across my throat. Anxiety rises within me, but accompanying it is a melancholy calm. I convince myself that I have control, but just barely.

"Hey, will you take this?"

I look up at Nella's words. To my surprise, I see her holding out a rectangular object towards me. It takes me a while, but I recognize it as a notebook. Come to think of it, I recall seeing her with it back at the Capitol.

"What're you doing?" I ask. I understand, though.

Nella urges it towards me. "Here. Take it. I want you to burn it."

Normally, I would refuse, seeing as how I wouldn't find myself burning something that belonged to someone else. But this isn't any other situation, so I have no choice but to take it into my hands.

I open the cover carefully, skimming over inked words. "What's in it?"

Nella shrugs. "Things about me, my life. Things I want to do…or wanted, I should say. Just…it's about me," she explains, offering me a tight grimace of a smile. "Will you do it?"

I blink. I've never been entrusted with something valuable to someone else. "Why?"

"It won't have any purpose once I'm gone. I figure it'll just be easier for you to get rid of it when…I go."

I slowly nod, lowering my gaze to the journal. My grip tightens around it protectively, as if to shield it from the horrors of the arena one last time. "Nothing'll be left." I promise.

Nella watches me; I can feel her gaze travelling through the pyres, watching me vow to destroy her notebook. I can tell she's investigating my gaze especially. I hope my eyes are as true as I feel.

The fire crackles on.

To break the silence, I settle the notebook on the ground beside me. "Why don't you…why don't you get some sleep?" I suggest.

I can tell by the way that she looks at me that she knows this is for both of our benefits, as we want to be blind to what we have to witness anyway. She contemplates her decision, but she must be tempted by it. Who would want to be awake when they die?

Finally, she nods in consent. I see her throat move as she swallows before she lies down on her side, and her form almost entirely disappears behind the fire. I hear a soft exhale before words. "Thank you, Claus."

Something trembles within my chest. "…you're welcome, Nella."

An hour, and she's finally asleep. I've checked on her repeatedly, and I've caught her dozing off but never fully asleep. Now, however, she's finally lapsed into a deep slumber. It seemed impossible to me to be able to sleep after such a tragedy occurred a short while ago, but Nella must really be ready. I'm not entirely prepared, but I will be for her sake.

The sword is still at the Cornucopia, but I don't want to use it. It's too brutal for one wanting to go peacefully. I know that this is what the Capitol would want, but I'm not giving them the satisfaction of seeing such sadism during a moment of mercy. Not this time.

I have no other weapons, besides the blunt club over at the Cornucopia. It's too far away, though, and I'm definitely not going to bash her head in. What if she wakes up in the middle of it? Oh God, I can't handle that.

I try to remember science classes back at school. The nervous system. The spinal cord. The brain.

I'm definitely not strong enough to twist someone's neck with my bare hands, and the unnatural sight of the aftermath might set me off. So I have to sever it.

The sword can come in handy, but it's heavy and generally difficult to wield if the wielder is someone like me. I might slip and hit something else and wake her. I have to use something small, but I have no such thing. Something like a knife.

I look around me for any knives, in case they were left by past tributes, but I see none. I cast Nella a worried look before I jog a distance away to search for any kinds of stones I can use. I rely only on quickly-vanishing sunlight to scour the grass and roots until I find a sizable rock.

I hurry back to the site and locate a smaller rock nearby. I take a seat by the fire and try to sharpen the stone into a point. I whit away at the stone for a good ten minutes, using the fire to try to see any progress I've possibly made. After ten minutes, however, I see that I've only managed to sharpen the rock to a dull rounded end. Have I picked the wrong rock?

In frustration, I hurl the rocks away and hunch over, my hands intertwining in my hair as if I'm huddling under a table during a tornado. My mind is clouded regret and worry and grief and horror, and I can't think straight. Nothing is making sense. I got rid of the very person that can help me win. I can't kill someone who wants to be killed. My District partner, who was tougher than me, is dead. Her ally has run off, not bothering to attack me. As the end of the Games draws close to the end, I'm running down Penrose stairs, only to find myself running all the way to the top when I reach the bottom. I can't stop running.

My hands fall away from my head, and I reluctantly glance over at Nella. She's still sleeping as soundly as she can, but her features are clearly troubled, or scared. She's waiting for the finishing blow. She's sleeping, and she's more prepared than I am.

I don't think I'll be able to feel as ready as her until I've had a piece of my heart torn out and stomped on the ground. She knows that pain, and she knows that there's nothing left for her. I want to tell her that there is, but that will bring a confrontation. I can't stomach the idea of giving up, even though it's something I can see myself doing. The only thing that ever stopped me from giving up was the idea of falling into some deep abyss, where I can only be left to fall through endless regrets and second thoughts. But now, if I imagine myself slipping on the tightrope I balance on, I can see the bottom of the abyss below me. It looks soft, and capable of cushioning my fall.

Is this where Nella is going? Down through an endless ravine with nothing to ever catch her? Does she know this?

Or maybe she won't fall. Maybe she'll float upwards, to Araucaria, and they'll be together. They'll remember the Games together, and she'll remember that I was the one that brought her up there.

This comforts me. I can see Nella in a better place, much better than the Arena. I barely even know her, but this idea makes me better. I don't want to feel happy, because the Hunger Games doesn't let you feel happy unless you've won (and sometimes not even then, as Moss' speech comes to mind). I just allow myself to feel better.

So I begin to reach for the rocks again, but something rustles up in the leaves above me. I freeze, my skin bristling with gooseflesh. My head snaps up towards the tree canopy above me, and I wonder if it's a bird or some other small animal.

I push myself up to a stand and look up, scanning the dark green for any signs of wildlife—maybe a wing here or a tail there. I see none.

However, I do see a shimmering silver material, splayed out over the wooden branches. It deflects the glow of the fire, casting a blinking reflection onto the dirt. In an instant, I know what it is. My heart stops and my breath freezes in my throat. Sponsor.

Sponsor?

Why would anyone offer to be a sponsor for me? What have I done to deserve this? But this is a good thing. But why? What's the gift?

After a few moments of scouting, I see something connecting to the deflated parachute, dangling from a forked branch. I hurry and fetch a long dead branch not too far from the fire, and I prod at the sponsor gift with the branch. Finally, the parachute floats down to the earth.

In the faint light, I can easily make out what my sponsor has granted me. It's a knife, consisting of a thin silver blade and a sturdy handle. The double-edged blade gleams up at me with a malicious tinge, as if baiting me to trust it. My hand moves of its own accord and my fingers curl around the handle. It feels light and quick, yet the heavier blade reminds me of its intent, and its purpose. The fire reflects off of the metal, reminding me of who lies so close to it.

Slowly, I turn on my heel and look at Nella in horror. I finally have a weapon, but now I feel as if it's twisting in my own gut. The world threatens to pirouette underneath me, and I lean on the tree to steady myself. The knife wobbles in my hand, even though I maintain a death grip on it.

_It's time._

I almost moan in despair. "Oh no…I killed you…I _killed_ you," I mumble through slackened lips. My stomach sinks back against my spine before wrapping itself around it. My hand, the one holding nothing, quivers at my side. "You're supposed to be _dead_."

_I was dead. No, _he_ was. The virus was what you killed, not me. You _cured_ me._

"Cured?" I repeat. "You're…so you're back to normal?"

_I should be. I hope so._

I don't trust him. It might be a trick. "Are you lying? Don't lie to me."

_I'm not. I can't lie to you. You'd know everything, wouldn't you?_

I avoid the statement. "Why're you here?" I demand under my breath. "Leave me alone. Go away."

_I want to watch._

My blood freezes in my veins. I forcefully swallow an invisible stone down my throat; I'm suddenly aware of how tightly my hand is clenched around the knife. "Why would you want to do that? I don't want you around anymore. Leave me alone."

_I want to see if you've grown. I want to see what I've done to you._

"You haven't done anything," I mutter through gritted teeth. "Now _go._"

_I'm going to watch, Claus. You might as well do it now._

"I am!" I snap. I hear a soft rustling, but it's only Nella slightly shifting in her sleep. I can't wake her, especially not now, especially when I'm about to end her.

I straighten up, wobbling slightly but trying to keep my balance. My head feels light as I rise, but I convince myself it's only nerves. They're screaming at me to get up and to sit down all at once, and their allegiances are blurred amongst my own growing horror. There's no turning back. Though, I can always run away, but what good what that do to any of us?

I use the tree trunk to steady myself, taking deep breaths and fending off the tendrils of nausea that begin to creep around my throat. I can almost _feel_ myself paling, and chills swarm down my body. My spine turns to jelly, and I almost collapse once more. My hand scrapes down the rough bark, sending some acute awareness through my brain. It snaps me awake, and gives me a new determination. My eyes find Nella, and my jaw sets.

One wobbly step at a time, I approach the campfire, feeling the soft tongues of heat reach out for my skin. They almost push me forward to Nella, urging me to do this as well. Everyone is our audience, shielded in an invisible amphitheater and watching the two stars perform the final act.

I'm now only a couple of feet away from Nella, looking down at her slumbering form. She seems to be unaware of my presence, and she looks somewhat anxious. But for the most part, she seems relaxed. She told me she wanted it done in the forest, since she's from District 7 and trees always felt natural to her. It made sense to me, and it still does right now. I think it's a perfect place to lose your life if you've decided that you don't want to own it anymore.

I exhale shakily as I sink to my knees. The skin beneath my pants feels the crumbly dirt underneath me; it's almost as if my senses have been enhanced. I can hear my heartbeat rolling about in my ears, blocking out all other noise. I look down at Nella, and suddenly she's far away. I blink, and she's right in front of me. My brain is on the verge of a panic attack right now, but something is keeping it from falling over the edge. It can't be him, he's half-dead. So is it me?

The leather grip is rough in my sweaty palm, causing me to reposition my grip more than once to find a comfortable way to hold it. It soon strikes me that there is no comfortable way to hold it. It's not meant to be comforting.

With the knife ready, I examine Nella's neck. Her brown hair has been thrown out and mussed over the ground, exposing her entire neck. I can see the slight bulge of where her spinal cord begins at the base of her neck and down her back. This is my target, with a nonexistent red bull's-eye painted on her skin. All I have to do is hit the target.

My breath starts rushing in my throat as I raise the knife high in the air. My face suddenly feels prickly and wet. They won't stop. I know what they are and why they're here, but I pretend they're simply raindrops from clouds that I can't see. My biceps shake, and my knuckles start to burn. I have to move, or I'll lock up and remain frozen here forever.

I force all feeling from my mind, so I don't feel the dirt pressing into my knees and my fingers chafing as they grip the knife. I force myself to just _see_, to see Nella's neck, and Nella's neck only. My mind pushes everything out to the boundaries of existence, except for the bulls-eye that's not even there.

"Please…please don't make me regret this," I breathe to Nella, who barely hears me. She doesn't respond. She still breathes. She's blissfully oblivious.

Then her body freezes, but I haven't moved. Time stands still, and I can only hear my breathing in my ears mingling with my heavy thundering heart.

It happens without me thinking. The ropes holding my arms back are cut free, and pure momentum slams my arms down. The blade slices the silent air clean in two.

Then the blade stops. Stuck.

I blink, and then I try to move the knife. Oh no…I'm stuck. I didn't hit her. I missed. She'll wake up. She'll see the knife embedded in the dirt next to her, and look up at me with the most spiteful eyes. Then, I'll die.

Burden leaves my eyes, and my vision is suddenly painfully clear. My cheeks feel wet again. I can see.

I look down at the knife and prepare to yank it out of the dirt.

Except, it's not in the dirt.

It's stuck in bright red and glowing orange and stretchy skin and bone. It's caught in a net of flesh and tendon and neck and _human._ A human named Nella Birchalynn.

Oh, my God. Oh, my God. Oh, God.

My hands start to shake around the handle, and I soon realize that me doing so causes the knife to tremble in Nella's neck. Horrified, my hands fly away and snap back to my mouth. They press against my lips and hope that I won't make another sound for the rest of my life.

Nella doesn't move. She doesn't breathe. She doesn't look at me with eyes of hate. The firelight dances on, moving in time to the crackling blazing music and not paying a single mind to the dead girl. The audience applauds and comes out and dances and urges me to exit the stage. Nella is supposed to remain.

My hands lock tight against my mouth, stifling any noises that threaten to make themselves known. But it doesn't stop a muffled gasp from gurgling out of my throat, followed by a low, long gasp. My eyes feel wet again, but then they suddenly don't.

A cannon booms far, far away. I cry out in shock at the sound, and my eyes snap over to Nella once more. She doesn't react like I do. She doesn't react at all.

I choke out a strangled sound that I can't identify, but it sounds horrible. I don't want to hear it again. It echoes amongst the trees. It jeers at me with its horrid sound, pointing to Nella.

_She wanted this, Claus,_ he says. _This isn't your fault. This isn't anybody's fault._

I can't say anything.

_Burn the notebook. The hovercraft's going to be coming for her. You can't stay. You have to go._

I follow the directions. My legs move, but I don't pay attention. My mind and my body are separate entities. I let it take control.

_Good, good. Now, take the notebook._

I hobble over to the notebook. I take it into my distant arms, and suddenly it flies out of my hands. The fire pops as the notebook lands squarely in its heat.

_Now, run. Let your legs carry you to a safe place. Find a tree to sleep in for the night. Find somewhere safe._

I think I nod, but I'm not sure. I just know that I move. That's all that matters. I'm moving and she's not. I have to move. She can't.

I run. Far away from the sinister dancing flames and the body frozen in sleep. I don't care that I've left the knife. I'm going back to the Cornucopia. The sword, it's there. My body knows where it is. For all I know, the sword is in one of the stylist's rooms back in the Capitol, and I'm running out of the Arena and all the way to that damned city just to get it.

My body runs for the Cornucopia, while my mind runs down a staircase into darkness.

Down, and down, and down, and down…

* * *

><p><strong>PumpkinGrin's AN: Holy crap, man, Claus is one of the five people left! Well, technically, four now. This was a hard one to write, I'm **_**so**_** sorry for giving you trouble for my delays, Nina/Bells!**

**But now, I want you all to give a moment of silence to Nella Birchalynn of District 7, and to wish her a long and happy life with Aspen.**


	62. Danger and Opportunity

This is Nina here. No I'm not better. I am doing somewhat better though...we'll see if it lasts of if it's a fleeting day like last time. I finally have an app on the 5th. My parent's cat-that I rescued in highschool-Boots, age 7, is still missing. I've called outside-to the vets-the the pound. Nothing. He may not be coming back. The funeral as happened for the family or well-rather ex-family member if you want to be techinical. So yeah. And I live in Georgia, so Beryl the storm is giving us some issues.

I am aware of the inconsistencies of the past two or three chapters. I will try to work on them to fix them. Just please know we are doing the best we can. I've lost so much weight I'm pretty much looking anorexic. Also, please note because I'm saying it publicly now. Chapters that are turned in way after the due date gives us VERY little time to look over and check for inconsistencies-which is what happened with these which were three weeks later (I promised late authors I would shame them). In the future, chapters will be handed off or characters will find their end in the game if they are late. Bells and I are only human and we cannot stay up and rearrange our entire schedule to proofread severely late chapters. So if an amazing tribute happens to die in the next games-then know there's a major chance it's because the author was consistently late. We're letting everyone know this now, since in the past our decisions have been flamed through misunderstandings.

So instead imagine like this: You're out sick from school, your teacher gives you an extenstion. But if you skip school then you get a fail grade for the day. Same logic applies here. ^_^

The official new story story is going to be called _Bring Them to Their Knees_ or BTTTk. Reaping chapters are being written now.

* * *

><p>Books: Efter En Sommerfuglen is a real Norwegian folk song about chasing after a butterfly.<p>

* * *

><p><em>When written in Chinese the word "crisis" is composed of two characters - one represents danger and the other represents opportunity.<em>

_~John F. Kennedy, address, 12 April 1959_

* * *

><p><strong>Elia Zervakos, District 4<strong>

**Written by booksandmusic97**

* * *

><p><em>What day is it?<em>

I've lost track. I schlepp through the woods with my backpack slung over one shoulder and my trident held tightly in my left hand. I've been feeling ill all day, but don't know why.

For the first time since entering the arena, I am truly alone. The members of my alliance have all broken off, or died. In a sense, it is comforting not to worry about being backstabbed by an ally, but in another, the solitude is disquieting.

I am _alone._

If I'm ambushed, I have nobody watching my back. If I somehow injure myself, there is nobody to help nurse my wounds. When I get hungry, there is nobody to help make the acquiring of food a speedier task. At night, there is nobody to stand guard. I truly have no idea how anybody could go into the arena without allies. It's practically suicide.

The sky is partly cloudy today, with the bright, white sun hidden behind a cloud shaped a bit like a whale. I look up and smile at the atmospheric likeness of the marine mammal. I've always liked whales. Spotting them is rare, though, even when I accompanied my father and brothers on their long fishing trips. Interesting how a fake cloud in the arena can distract my thoughts from the arena to home. I heave a sigh and turn away from the cloud.

_Keep moving, Elia. You don't have time to let your mind wander._

The sun will be setting soon, and I want to get as much ground covered as possible before that happens. To pass the time as I walk, I hum the tune of an old District 4 folk song. The song is in a language that I'm sure is long forgotten. There are several languages that are scarcely kept alive by the folk songs of the Districts, such as Efter En Sommerfuglen, the song about chasing after a butterfly in hopes of catching it to treasure it. Eventually, the humming turns into whispered, inaudible lyrics;

_Sommerfuglen min, med vingerne fine,_

_Røde og brune og røde og blaa,_

_Finder du da ingen af blomsterne dine?_

_Sommerfuglen min, med vingerne fine,_

_Sæt dig nu der paa det svaiende straa._

_Sommerfuglen min,_

_Jeg vil ikke skræ-_

A crackling and the sound of microphone feedback fills my ears and stops me dead in my tracks. My mouth just kind of hangs open, as if I were still whispering the lyrics. At first, I think I am going insane, that I am hearing things.

"Moss, Aella, Claus, Aleah, Nella, Elia, and Jules. I think it's time I'm honest with you,"

_Guess I'm not going crazy. That's a relief._I wipe the sweat from my brow and lean against a tree as the gamemaker delivers her message.

"When you were injected with a tracker, we gave you a dose of L793T1. It's drug that will slowly send each of you spiraling into insanity. You'll be fully crazy by the morning of day eleven without it. As you all know, it's day nine already."

I finally close my mouth. Now isn't the time to whisper songs about butterflies. I can feel the horror spread across my face as she continues.

"I realize that some of you think I'm…lying. Take that risk if you want. But remember Roy."

_Yes._

"Remember Boston."

_Vividly._

"And Claus…you're not feeling too…well now are you? Maybe it's too late for you already."

_Claus seemed fine. Guess not._I keep an iron grip on my trident as the final portion of the message fills the air.

"At the Cornucopia, there are seven vials. One vial for each of you. They're there now, and they'll only be there for two hours. Start running and remember, stealing what's not yours in the arena isn't against the rules. So why limit yourselves to one?"

I swear and throw my trident's spikes into the ground in frustration. How can we run to the cornucopia if we don't even know where it is? Two hours. I've got two hours to find the cornucopia and snag a vial…but I have two days before the full effect of the virus takes over. What happens if nobody finds a vial? Will the virus kill us off one-by-one? Last one still clinging to life wins?

_That's far too anticlimactic._

There's no way the Gamemakers would let that happen. I fling myself to the ground beside my trident and begin to think. If they knew that all seven of us remaining tributes were too far away from the cornucopia to even hope to obtain a vial, they would have set up a trap to push us together before making the announcement. That can only mean two things; one, we are all close enough to the cornucopia to get there in two hours; and two, Aleah and the anti-Careers are close enough. There's no way the announcement would be made in the final seven if less than four of the seven tributes were close enough to get the antidote. Odds are, at least one of us will die of the virus even _if_we have equal chances of obtaining a life-saving vial. The gamemakers are surely proud of the virus, and they'll certainly make sure _someone_perishes as a direct result.

Maybe even me.

Heaving a sigh, I stand up and yank my trident from the ground, and sprint off to the south; fully understanding that I may be heading in the wrong direction.

~.*~.*~.*

_Alex Zervakos, victor of the 21st Hunger Games_

"Oi, pretty boy! Want a drink?"

I look up to see Fatima Izadi, the female victor of District 5, sitting beside me with a bottle of vodka in her hand. Fatima currently holds the record for youngest victor ever. She won the Hunger Games at the age of fifteen years and four months, beating Lacey Yamanaka of District 1's record by two months. Now five years since her victory, she is one year my junior, and my closest friend among the victors.

"Are you deaf? Want a drink?" She repeats, pushing her unkempt coffee brown hair from her face. I smiles and tug on her long subtle waves.

"When's the last time you've brushed your hair?" I tease.

Fatima rolls her eyes and says, "Two days ago. Maybe. I'll take your ignoring my question as a yes." She pours me a drink and nudges it towards me.

"You know Fatima, just because you have a pretty face doesn't mean you don't have to take care of yourself. Why the hell are you even _in_the victor sex trade when you don't practice common hygiene?" I joke.

"A question I ask myself often, _azizam."_

She purses her lips and stares at the large flat screen television in front of us in the victor's lounge. It takes up the majority of a wall, and the surround sound speakers help take up the rest. The television is turned off, but she grabs the remote and says, "Want to check on Mrs. Zervakos?"

"Please?"

Fatima nods and powers on the T.V, but immediately mutes it. "You know you should have waited until after this year's Games to marry her, right? The reaping was likely rigged."

"I know," I say softly. "I've thought about that often."

She bats her long eyelashes and blinks her catlike amber eyes at me and asks, "Do you regret it? Marrying her?"  
>Fatima has always been very blunt and possesses zero tact. Coming from anyone but her, the question would have been out of line. But since it's Fatima, I knock back the rest of the liquor and pour some more as I answer her.<p>

"I probably should regret it, but I don't," I swish the vodka around in the glass and continue. "The past few months have been the best months of my life. Elia is…the best wife anyone could ask for. She's forgiving, kind, understanding, loving- I don't know what I would do without her. I couldn't wait any longer to marry her. I need her. Do you know what that's like, Fatima?"

She shakes her head no and asks, "What if she doesn't win, Alessandro?"

"Start the suicide watch, I guess," I say coldly, chugging the vodka and pushing the glass aside.

Fatima is startled, but says nothing else as she unmutes the television just in time to see Elia sprint off in some random direction.

"Are you staying?"

"Considering you're pretty much going to be wasted after all that vodka? Obviously. Curse your alcohol tolerance of a ten-year-old."

~.*~.*~.*

**Elia Zervakos…**

"Attention tributes," crackles the voice of the gamemaker from the sky. "You are now down to an hour and fifteen minutes. You'll be notified again of the timing at the thirty minute mark. May the odds be ever in your favor."

"Yeah, right!" I snarl as I continue to run south. I pick up some speed, than almost instantly trip over a tree root and fall into a thornbush. I fall on my right side, causing the thorns to dig into the skin on my arms and face. I grit my teeth and try not to make my pain audile in case the remaining tributes are close. As I begin to lift myself from the thornbush, the thorns in my flesh only hurt worse.  
><em>On the count of three. One…two…now!<em>I bite my lip hard so that it cuts open and the metallic taste of blood fills my mouth. At least it keeps my mind off the pain from the thorns as I free my face and arm from the disgusting shrub.

Once free, I let out a small moan of pain as I examine my arm and begin to pull out any remaining thorns I find. I lift up my shirt to see if there are any thorns in my stomach and pull out the ones I find.

_Good job, Elia. You and your clumsiness just wasted about five minutes._

I throw my scarlet curls, now tangled and messy from days in the arena over my shoulder and keep walking. I lick my lower lip until the taste of blood fades enough for my liking. _A few more days. A few more days and you'll either be dead, or home._

The idea of dying has become less daunting than it used to be. Death is a part of life, I've always known this, I just never thought I'd be facing it at eighteen. I also never thought I'd be married at eighteen and expecting a baby, either. Life happens, consequentially, so does death. I don't think that the thought of death ever really bothered me. It's the process _of_dying. How will it happen? Spear to the stomach? Beaten to death with a rock? Decapitation? Would my killer even leave my body intact for my family to bury, or would they deny that final act of kindness?

I shake my head violently to try to stop myself from thinking about that.

_You can't do that, Ellie._I can hear him say. _You can't think like death is an option._

"But it is!" I argue.

_You can't think like it is._

"I'm going to die, Alex. I'm going to die, just accept it."

_You're not._

"Yes I am."

_There's still a chance._

"Shut up shut up shut up," I seethe and pull at my hair. Vial. I need to get a vial. Cornucopia…cornucopia…survival. I need to get my hand on a vial of the antidote to whatever this virus is.

_Left, right. Left, right. Left, right, left, right- avoid the roots, right…_

Each step is becoming laborious than it is worth. Maybe I should just give up. I'm not even a full month pregnant, it's not like my baby would suffer. It's hardly even a mass of anything at this point. Alex will get over it; he'll find someone else eventually. It's not like he'll have a hard time if he's back on the market- he's attractive, funny, kind, chivalrous. Everything a man should be, he is.

_Alex will be fine if I died. He'll be sad for a while, but he of all people should know that dying is normal. Dying would be fine._

I tell myself all of that, but the only person I can't fool is myself. I know I don't truly mean a word of the death-acceptance crap. I don't want to die. I want to live; I want to have my baby. I'd actually be okay with dying after I had her- I just want to see her and hold her at least once. Then I'd be happy.

Oh, well. This is the Hunger Games. Twenty-four go in, only one comes out. Everyone has a chance, but some more than others. To be honest? I think I am a member of the "others" rather than of the "some." And it scares me, terrifies me, but I can't give up- not just yet.

My chest begins to hurt and my left side cramps up, so I stop running and find a tree to lean against until the pain subsides. It hurts ten times worse than any cramp I've ever had, and it almost feels like something is stabbing me from the inside. The only thing I can do to keep from screaming is to bite my lower lip until again, it bleeds.

I wish I could stop moving, I wish I could just rest, but I can't. Time is running out to get to the Cornucopia and get a vial of the antidote. I don't know how much time I have left, but it can't be much. So the trek continues through the endless forest. I almost cry tears of joy when I hear the rushing of a water nearby.

"Ocean!" I gasp.

Then it hits me. This isn't District 4. It must be a river.

A river…

_A river…what do I remember about a river?_

"Oh!" I get it now. There was- _is_- a river near the Cornucopia. Is it the same river? Who knows, but I'm so desperate to get my hands on the antidote that I don't even care if this is the right river or not.

_Follow the river. Just follow the river._

Just as I start to push my way through the thick brush and thorny vines of the forest, I hear a snarling noise behind me. I stop dead in my tracks as if someone pressed a pause button. The snarling noise continues, only this time, it sounds like it's closer to me. Slowly, silently, I pick up my foot and take another step forward.

_It's probably just a rabid squirrel or something,_I think. _You'll be fine._

I continue on as I was before, only to come face to face with the source of the snarling noise- well. Face-to-snout. Standing in front of me on its hind legs is an overgrown fox.

_A mutt._

The fox mutt snarls and salivates while it stands there, otherwise frozen like a statue. My eyes meet its eyes for half a second, which was enough time for it to decide to attack. It bats one of its huge clawed paws at me, digging the claws into my face.

I yelp in pain and stumble backward into the trunk of a large oak tree. The mutt advances and I scramble to grab a weapon to attack it with. The trident in my left hand wouldn't help me at such close range, so I resort to one of the knives I have around my waist to the stab the fox with. It doesn't work as planned. The stabbing only pissed the fox off. It snarls loudly, flails its arms, and drools all over my bleeding face.

While its busy flailing around aimlessly, I take off running toward the river. It chases after me after I get about five seconds of a head start. Like _that_helped me at all. The oversized pest is a fast runner. Determined, too. It claws as my back as I run, but only one of its long claws actually scratches the back of my shirt.

_Zig-zag. Run in zig-zags and it makes it harder for it to follow you._I remember that from Career training in District 4. How could I not have remembered that until now? I try running in zig-zags, and it slows the mutt down only enough for me to keep a few feet between us. I decide to try throwing another knife at it. I'm not really aiming when I send the blade of my knife into the creature's abdomen. It snarls and flails and drools, then keeps running after me. In fact, it'd so pissed off this time, that it begins to run even_faster._It whacks me upside the head with one of its paws, not scratching me, but knocking me to the ground. It looks like it's about to pounce, so I roll to the left and hop to my feet just before it dives for the spot where I was just lying.

_Trident, now._

I throw my trident at the mutt, sending the three-pronged weapon though the monster's body. I yank it out, a mass of skin, fur, and black mutt-blood coming with it. But this mutt is stubborn, just like the Skye-mutt and the Alex-mutt. It just. Won't. _Die._

While the trident certainly slowed him down, he hasn't given up on eating me alive, yet. It gnashes its teeth and flails its arms around as it goes to attack me one last time. The mutt's teeth latch onto my leg, digging into the back of my leg more so than the front. I grab another knife and stab the fox as it increases the pressure on my leg. I can feel my red blood pouring into its mouth. As much as it hurts, I keep stabbing the fox, seeing no other way out. It lets up on the pressure a little bit and pushes itself up. That's when it hits me.

_I have a trident._

My trident it lying to my right and the stretch I have to make to reach it is so painful, but I finally grasp it and force the blunt end into the ground and angle it so that the prongs are pointed at the monster. I stab it in the back two or three more times until it slumps forward toward the prongs, its own weight being what causes his demise. The falling fox stop momentarily as the trident pushes through the ribcage, then pierces through what I can only assume is its heart.

Now that the mutt is dead, I pry its jaws open to free my leg, though when I pull it out, I hardly recognize it as a human appendage. It's bloody and kind of reminds me of fish guts. My trident is still buried in the mutt's body. Getting it out is going to be quite an endeavor. I struggle to my feet and force the mutt onto its back so I can pull it out.

"Disgusting," I mutter, seeing the black blood and mutt guts covering the silver prongs.

_River. Find the river. That's your only chance, Ellie._

I stagger through the forest toward the sound of the rushing river and try to ignore the unbearable pain in my right leg.

"Disinfectant," I say quietly. "I need disinfectant," Maybe my sponsors will send me some…if I even _have_any sponsors. Heaving a sigh, I continue staggering to the river.

The silver parachute takes me by surprise. The little metal beeper is going off just softly enough for me to hear it as it flies next to me. I reach up and grab the parachute and eagerly unravel it. Inside, is a bottle of a rubbing alcohol and liquid bite treatment hybrid. I read the printed instructions on the bottle and slowly unscrew the cap and tilt the bottle forward over my leg.

"This is going to hurt," I say, looking around the trees, hoping that there's a camera somewhere. "Isn't it?"

Ah, well. Beggars can't be choosy, I suppose.

The liquid burns when it first touches my leg, and smells absolutely horrid. The pain lasts for what feels like a lifetime, but can really only be a few seconds before it is replaced with a cooling sensation. I pour some on my hands and hake them dry before putting more on my hand and rubbing it all over my face. When I'm sure that I've done all that I possibly can, I put the cap back on the bottle and put it inside the little black backpack and resume my search for the river.

"Thirty minutes, tributes. I do hope you can find the Cornucopia in time," says the voice of the Gamemaker from earlier. "It'd be a shame if _all_of you died of the virus."

"Bitch." I mutter under my breath, picking up my pace.

The feel of the cool spray on my face is the most wonderful thing I've experienced in the arena. Flowing mere _feet_under me is a river. A beautiful, clear, freshwater, _river._Without thinking, I dive headfirst into the rushing water. The current carries me downstream, so there's really nothing I can do but wait at this point.

The current is extremely fast, so it doesn't take long for me to spot the Cornucopia. It's all I can do to keep from jumping up and down and shouting with joy when I realize how close I was the whole time. It takes some effort to fight the current and swim to shore, but I manage it and beeline for the Cornucopia.

The antidote it just _yards_away. I can almost feel the cool glass of the vial in my hand.

In an instant, in just one instant, all of my hopes are thrown away. I'm standing in front of the Cornucopia, but lying on the ground before me is a mess of broken glass and blue liquid. The vials. Someone got here first and smashed the rest.

"Dammit! Dammit, dammit, dammit, dammit! Shit! Son of a bitch!" I sink to my knees and curl up in a ball. "What am I supposed to do now?"

Why don't the sponsors intervene? Surely at least _one_of them would have the right connections to get the antidote and send it, right? Right? I'm about to go full-on two-year-old and have a temper tantrum right there in the grass, but a final message from the Gamemakers interrupts my childish moment.

"Good afternoon, tributes. I have something that might just brighten up your day. There is one more vial of the antidote, located in the graveyard. I'm sure you all know where that is…correct? Good luck, and may the odds be ever in your favor."

"The _graveyard?_That's great, that's just- that's just _dandy,_" I mumble, getting to my feet.

I know that the graveyard is located east of where the Careers were camped, which was north of the Cornucopia. So…northeast? Where's northeast? Compass. I need a compass…Hyre! Hyre had a compass in his backpack, and I took it after he…died. I unzip my backpack and pull out the compass. I stand with my back to the Cornucopia and examine the compass for northeast.

_Got it. I can do this._

I start my trek to the graveyard- hopefully. There's still at least an 80% chance that I'm wrong about this whole thing. But, dwelling on all the possibilities will get me nowhere. If I die trying to find the antidote, then so be it. I tried.

Though my leg is still in pain, I run as fast as I can for the graveyard, fearing that the same thirty-minute time limit applies to the vial at the graveyard. I trip and stumble over tree roots twice and my own feet once, but it doesn't slow me down for more than a few seconds. I'm determined to get that vial so I can win, so I can go home.

I finally see the steep incline leading to the graveyard and actually crack a smile. _So close…_

I see the form of another tribute already in the graveyard, wandering around. He or she is closer to finding the vial than I am…I can't let that happen. It takes all of my remaining adrenaline to run forward and into the graveyard.

"Hey!" I shout at the tribute, flinging a knife in their direction.

The knife lands beside them, but doesn't hit them. Slowly, the tribute turns around to face me. I gasp when I see who it is. Though he's lost weight and has lost the optimistic gleam in his green eyes, I'd recognize the shaggy brown hair anywhere. I'm preparing to attack my District partner.

"Moss…" I say, stunned.

"Hi, Elia." He says sheepishly. "I guess you're here for that vial, huh?"

"And I suppose that's why you're here?"

Moss smiles sweetly and says, "You suppose right."

I smile at him, and then frown. There's one vial. Two of us. I don't want to have to kill Moss. He showed me a final act of kindness before we entered the arena. I can live with the deaths of Rena, Boston, and Hyre on my conscience, but I couldn't live with myself if I killed Moss.

Moss reaches for his side and pulls out a knife. "Guess we have now…right, Elia?"

"We don't _have_to Moss."

"You're right," he smiles. "What if we shared the vial? You drink half and I drink half?"

"It takes a full vial to cure the virus. Surely you must know that."

Moss shrugs. "I suppose I could just let you have the vial. I could…you know. Die. Isn't that the whole point of the Games? Twenty-four go in, one comes out. I'd like to see you win if I don't. Or Aella…Nella…Jules-" Moss pauses, then chuckles. "Anyone but Aleah, I guess. She scares the hell out of me."

"Me too," I laugh.

My District partner takes a step closer to me and raises his knife. "How about we make it a fair fight? Toss your trident aside."

"Show me your weapons. _All._Of your weapons."

He obliges and lifts up his shirt to reveal the weapons belt around his waist. "Just a few knives," he says. "I had a spear, but I lost it fighting someone else."

"Moss, I wouldn't agree to this fair fight bullshit if it wasn't you. I owe it to you, I guess. Being from home and all," I say, tossing my trident and backpack aside. "And how about this? If I seem like I'm winning the fight, you run. You leave. And I won't kill you."

"What if it looks like _I'm_the one winning?" He retorts with a playful smirk.

"Then I'll run," I tell him honestly.

"Do I have to promise not to kill you, Elia?" He inquires.

"No. You can kill me of you want, but just know that I won't kill _you_ if _you_ run. Scout's honor."

Moss nods, agreeing to the terms of our fight. "You ready?"

I scoff and say, "You're not supposed to ask your opponent if they're ready. You just-" I throw a knife at him and hit hits his upper arm. "-go."

Moss is quick, I'll give him that. He throws one of his own knives at me, and I duck just before it would have hit me in the chest. He throws another while I'm in the ground, and it hits me far to the right of my spine. I yank the knife out of my back and throw it back at him in one quick motion. When I miss, I mutter obscenities under my breath and fumble to grab another knife. When I realize that I have no more knives on my person- I've stashed some in my backpack- I make the foolish decision of running at him for hand-to-hand combat. Moss throws two knives at me as I charge at him. One hits me in the left thigh, and the other barely misses my left arm. I tackle Moss to the ground, and he quickly uses it to his advantage. He moves me under him and he holds a knife above my neck.

"I could do it, you know. I could slit your throat right here, right now, Elia."

"But you won't, I tell him."

"Oh?" He challenges, moving the knife closer to my neck.

"Yeah," I say, using my legs to move him off of me just enough for me to flip him over so that I was the one holding a knife over him. "At least not now."

Moss goes to pull another knife from around his waist, but I toss my own knife aside and push his hand away and take the knife he was reaching for. Stupid move? Very.

While I have him pinned down, I glance around the graveyard in hopes of finding something containing a vial of blue liquid. It take a while, but I find it about five hundred yards to the right. I smirk at Moss and say, "Good luck."

I kick him in the face in hopes that it will stall him long enough for me to make a run for it. It stalls him by about ten seconds. It doesn't take long for him to catch up with me, and when he realizes what I'm running toward, he tries to pass me, but I trip him.

Childike? I think so. But will it save my life? Certainly.

I fling myself to the ground and slide through the dirt to the vial when I'm about fifteen feet from it, and eagerly pop the cork and down the liquid. It tastes about as good as the bite treatment smells, but I don't care. I got the antidote, that's enough to make me forget about the horrible taste.

I turn around and look for Moss, only to see him running in the opposite direction. I keep my promise and don't go after him. Glancing around the graveyard, I see that my backpack and the knives from our fight are still scattered across the graveyard, along with my trident.

_Moss didn't even take my stuff…he really meant it when he gave me that fair fight BS, didn't he?_

Not that I expected any different of Moss Dorian. I smile to myself as I begin to collect the knives from our fight. Looking into the distance, I watch as Moss continues to make his escape from the graveyard.

One last Gamemaker announcement is heard, "Tributes! I lied. There is _one final vial._Good luck finding it."


	63. When the Glass Breaks

**And what more than half of you have been asking for!**

**Please note, that when we make the schedules sometimes a character may have two chapters close together or they may be really far apart. When you read this chapter, you'll see what she's been doing in the days since we've last seen her. XD**

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><p><strong>Jules Surket, District 3<strong>

**By Fritz as Pritz**

"'_But I don't want to go among mad people,' said Alice.__  
><em>_'Oh, you can't help that,' said the cat, 'We're all mad here.'"_

—Lewis Carroll

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><p>Right when I think I can actually make it back home, the stupid fucking Gamemakers have to throw in another variable. It's almost as if they searched through my head and found my greatest fear locked away into a well-sealed box.<p>

I do not fear dogs or spiders. Those things are all tangible, and you can hunt them down and kill them. But that isn't the case with insanity. You cannot hunt it down and kill it. By the time you have it in your grasp, it is far too late. Once insanity rests on your shoulders, it stays there. Even death isn't as terrifying compared to insanity, but am I willing to choose one over the other. I hope I don't have to.

My hope isn't going to help me if I can't find a stupid vial.

Luck has been against me since the announcement of the Gamemakers' brilliant plan. I knew I didn't have as much time as I needed to finish the entire nest of tracker jackers, but I definitely didn't want to risk wasting their resources, so I had to stuff the remaining insects into several jars and cans that I had around and grabbed from the remnants of the Cornucopia.

Then I inspected my two jars, the fruits of my labor. One was a jar completely filled with the gold venom that makes me giddy just looking at it. The other was an idea I had during training. Betta once told me that bees communicate with each other through pheromones and that when a hive is threatened, they release the pheromone to get the others to help protect them. After dissecting a tracker jacker, I found that they do the same thing. My other jar is half filled with these pheromones.

After I made sure both jars were secure, I placed them in my bag as well as my remaining food and water. I made sure the nest was completely empty one last time, slid down my tree, and then left.

My first mistake was not going straight for the feast. I figured I had time to prepare myself, and filled my syringe with venom so I can easily stab someone with it, and then dipped my knife in the venom as well. It gave it a beautiful gold tint, but it also gave it a pungent odor that makes my nose cringe just thinking about it. I decided that my pheromones would be no good at a feast since I wouldn't have time to set up a trap to get them on people, so I dug a small hole and left the pheromones and tracker jackers in there. Then I took my time trying to play out ways I could get in and out without too many problems.

It didn't really matter in the end because by the time I got to the Cornucopia, the vials were gone, leaving a mess in their wake. I'm partially glad I wasn't there, but mainly pissed off because I didn't have a vial. However, I didn't give up hope that quickly. I knew that if I was lucky, there might be something within the forest or maybe a tribute stupid enough to not have taken it yet. After a few hours of mindlessly walking around the trees, I returned to the graveyard only to find that there was a vial there. A vial that has already been taken.

Now I sit on Mack's grave, not entirely sure whether I should just try exploding the arena now, before the eleventh day creeps up on me. Maybe, if I do a rain dance, the rain will come and lightning will take out the rest of the tributes. I chuckle at my own stupidity. Now I'm just getting desperate and that is something I can't do, not here anyway. I need an idea; something small to create a ripple within my thoughts. I need something, anything.

The stupid Capitol trumpets sound and I find myself groaning as the voice booms throughout the arena. "Attention tributes!" They better not be telling us that we have rabies as well. "There is only one, yes, one vial left and we have decided to give it to you." There has to be a catch. "However—" There it is. "—there are more than one of you who need it. It will be placed on the oasis the minute the sun sets. Remember, this is your last chance."

I'm up and getting ready before he even finishes his words. If there is only one, then that means I need to get there first to set up a trap. That trap will be my only way of securing the vial, and the Gamemakers must know that. That is probably why they are giving me one last chance. They know I will go down fighting the only way I know how.

I wonder if my working has gotten them curious. I'm sure my actions so far has been very dumbfounding especially my work with the tracker jackers. That's probably why they haven't bugged me in my tree. They know I'm working toward something greater and they want to know what it is. I'm glad I at least have something over them. Or maybe I'm completely wrong. The minds of Capitol people aren't my forté.

I go to where I buried the pheromones and tracker jackers, already having an idea of what I will do. I'm itching to do this, to finally use my traps. I have been waiting nine days to use the little insects and now is my chance. But at the same time, I don't want to kill anyone. I honestly just want to know if it would work. I shake my head of those thoughts. Compassion isn't needed in the Hunger Games.

I swallow down one of the remaining pain pills for my healing ankle and run as fast as I can across the graveyard, hardly paying attention to the familiar tombstones. Surprisingly enough, I don't trip over anything, until I end up at the small chasm that cuts off the desert and the graveyard. It is the only place I haven't been in and for good reason. There is close to nothing on either side, except for the lone trees far off into the distance. It would take an idiot to not realize that that was where the oasis is. Unfortunately it's far off, and who knows what kind of stupid mutts the Gamemakers threw in here. Snakes, probably, and I hate them.

I let out a breath and take in another. Screw snakes. Screw the desert. Screw the Gamemakers. This isn't about any of them anymore. It's about my sanity, and I won't let anything get in the way of that, not even a fellow tribute. My brother once told me that determination can get you far, but then so can stupidity. I'm not sure which is true about me right now, but I guess I'll figure it out later. With one last breath, I begin to jog across the sand.

The minute I begin my trek, I am glad that there is no sand in District Three. It flies up as I move through it and it gets in my shoes and all over my clothes. I don't even know how District Four does it. Not to mention, it takes a lot more effort to run through sand than it takes to run on hard solid ground.

I keep my eyes on the sand, eyeing any type of mutts that might come at me. I see something slither a few feet away from me, but it could just be my imagination running wild. There are a few scorpions I see, but they are too far to be of any problem to me. A couple cacti litter the grounds and I remember reading somewhere that drinking cactus juice can bring on hallucinations. I always thought it was ridiculous, but I have no doubt that these cacti probably are. Another way for the Capitol to get their show. I spit at one as I pass it.

The oasis is basically a piece of beauty in the middle of nothingness. There are a few tall trees circling around a glistening lake that looks completely untouched by the evil surrounding it. The grass around that is bright green and thins out as it strays farther from the lake. I practically collapse against the trees and bask in the shade that they give me. I take several drinks from the lake and consider bathing in it, but I'll have time for that later.

My mind runs to the place it goes when I think of traps. What I really need right now is a way to get the pheromones on a tribute so that the tracker jackers can do their work. On the other hand, I don't want the tribute to get to the lake either. If they are caught in a hole, I won't have to worry about that. My eyes go to the sun. I think I have about three to four hours before it sets and the vial comes, even less before the tributes in need of it come as well. I won't have enough time to dig a proper hole.

But maybe I don't need to. If an injury that would render them incapable of getting out of the hole came to them, then it would solve the lake problem. But then how can I create such a trap out here when there are very few trees to create a snare? I need something else.

I walk around the lake, trying to get a decent idea, when I trip and fall face first on the grass. I curse myself like I always do when I fall, but then a thought comes to me. Jumping back to my feet, I force myself to stumble again, and then focus on the placement of my feet. The split second of unbalance is my opportune moment.

I run to the part of the oasis that faces the rest of the arena, where the other tribute or tributes will most likely come from. As quickly as I can, I dig at the sand like a dog, trying to get the hole as deep as I can. Eventually I pause and go to my bag to get a broken metal plate that I stole from the Cornucopia. Using that, I get a lot more work done. Sweat runs profusely down my face, but I pay no mind to it. I need to get this done. The hole is no more than two feet when I decide to move on. If I have more time, I'll go back to it.

I pull out two thick branches that I pointed into stakes days ago when I was still with the Monsters and wanted to kill something. I didn't think I would use them, but I guess I was wrong. I get the twine from my pack and wrap it around each stake. Making sure the rope is secure, I dig two holes about a yard away from each other. I place the stakes inside then push as much sand inside as possible. I get two large boulders and rest the twine on top to elevate it and make it more likely for someone to trip over.

I walk a few steps away and look at the trap. The rocks I placed seem too close together, almost making it too obvious. The twine, however, is thin enough to not be seen, thank goodness, against the similar color of the sand. With any hope, the tribute will not notice the rocks. All I can do at this point is hope.

This next part I know is going to be difficult since I haven't exactly created a true solution in my head. I know that I need a snare-like device to catch onto one's ankle so that it could harm them and that it will be in the sand. However, I don't know where to place it exactly since there are several places you can place your foot when you trip, especially if your legs are longer than mine. I fear that I will under do it. My only solution is to put multiple snares to heighten my chances of the trap working. I place about five of them in different areas between the hole and the trip twine.

I take a step back and imagine what would happen:

The selected tribute walks in, not paying too much attention to the monotonous scenery. When they catch sight of the oasis, they would run to it, in hopes of getting to the shade, the water, and most importantly, the vial. During the run, they trip over the twine and the other foot searches for its balance. Hopefully, the foot lands in one of the snares, latching onto their ankle so that they can't move forward. When they try to, they end up in the hole (which I will cover with my blanket and a thin layer of sand). Once in the hole, I will drop some pheromones then throw a jar of tracker jackers at them. The stings will either kill them or greatly disable them to which I can finish them off with my knife or leave them there to suffer for the Capitol to watch.

There are a few loose ends that I don't like, but I know that there is no way I can change it. A lot is riding on the tribute not seeing the trip wire and placing a foot into the snare. Not to mention how it is basically useless if they come through the underground labyrinths or the graveyard. I just have to hope it works.

I work at the hole again to make it deeper so that it will be harder for the tribute to get out. My work is less hectic than before, but it doesn't mean I'm not rushing. I don't know who is coming and I need to put my worries somewhere. When the hole is passed my knees, I place my blanket and layer of sand on top to make it blend in more.

A blood curdling scream echoes throughout the arena that strikes me cold. It lingers in the air long after the noise dies down and I find myself paralyzed. I force my arms to continue moving then prepare a small amount of pheromones and tracker jackers for the trap.

It is too quiet here. In my tree, I was able to whistle with the mockingjays, even though I could hardly carry a tune. I wish they were here now, if anything just to give me company.

I twitch in the anticipation of my prey and force myself to stay focused on other tasks such as refilling my water bottles and getting my things in order. I hum a song to myself, smiling every time I miss a note. I know that my friends back home will be laughing at me and Kane is probably throwing food at the screen, yelling out, "Boo!" I wish I could hug them.

Another scream erupts, this time much closer. I look out over the horizon, straining to see against the setting sun. It is almost all the way down and I wonder when the Gamemakers are planning on giving up the vial.

I see the tribute, a mere dot stumbling through the sand. Whoever it is comes through from the Cornucopia, which is a good sign for my trap so far. I put the night glasses on my nose and watch the tribute as they come closer and closer. Yet another scream comes and I realize that it is from this tribute. Whoever it is has already given into the insanity.

The sun is almost gone, barely giving off an orange hue. If I was back home, I would say it is pretty. Right now, it almost looks like blood. My eyes return to the tribute, who suddenly turns the opposite direction. Realizing their mistake, they turn back to the oasis, but now they aren't facing my trap.

My heart sinks. Maybe they will get back on track or lose their way again and end up toward the trap anyway. There's no way I can be sure of either. I need to do something. Muttering a curse under my breath, I hide my supplies in a tree then run toward where the tribute is.

I am surprised to see that the tribute is Moss, his dark hair wildly going about his head. If that wasn't enough to tell me he was crazy, his eyes dart in every direction and he keeps muttering things. I don't know how I will get him to listen to me, especially because his sense has probably flown out the window. But maybe he isn't completely gone. Maybe I can still manipulate whatever is left.

"Hey Moss!" I yell to him. He pauses and looks at me. I'm not sure if he recognizes me or not but his mouth still moves. "Hey it's me, Jules! You know, one of the Careers!"

That gets his attention. He faces me fully and his hand goes to the sword at his hip. I need him to run at me. "Yeah, I guess you must have missed me before! I bet you can't even get me now!" He takes a couple of steps toward me, but no more than that. I swallow. What am I getting myself into? "Too bad I didn't get to kill all those damn traitors of yours! That would have been fun!" In the back of my head, I almost sound like Onyx, but it doesn't matter right now. I just need him to follow me.

And follow me he does. The minute the words leave my lips, he charges at me and I have to run immediately. I know he is faster than I am and I am depending on the distance to help me before he gets me. His labored breathing rings in my ears and I risk looking over my shoulder at him.

He has covered the distance between us quickly. Too quickly. He'll get me before I can get to the trap. I'm a dead woman.

No no no. I will make it.

I push myself harder, taking bigger strides. The trap is coming up; I can see the rocks. In his insane state, he definitely won't notice, but I can't exactly run around it or else he will follow me. I need to jump over and pray I don't land on one of my own snares.

I can feel him coming closer and I can't contain the scream that erupts from me. I'm not going to make it. This is the end. He'll tackle me to the ground and stab me with his stupid sword. I won't make it.

But there it is, right in front of me. With all of my strength, I jump over the twine as if it is a hurdle. I almost let lose my cry of triumph, when my foot catches on one of the snares and I fall on my side. Luckily I don't fall in the hole, but it sucks that the ankle that was already injured got caught in the snare.

Instinctively, I cover my face, expecting Moss to jump on top of me and kill me. When that doesn't happen, I roll on my back to see where he is. All I can see of him is his ankle on the snare. The rest is in the hole. I can't believe he fell for it, even after I fell in my own trap. I guess him being insane helped me out in the end.

I pull the knife from my sheath and cut off the rope my foot. I stand up and limp toward the hole. Before I can risk letting my compassion take over, I throw the pheromones on him then run to where I hid the jar of tracker jackers. Cleaning my hands in the lake, I open the jar a little and throw it in the hole. Then I take a deep breath and submerge myself in the water.

Even in the water, I can hear him screaming and I force my eyes closed. No matter what I do, I can still hear him howling out at the top of his lungs for the help that will not come. After a few minutes, I let my head peak up, his cries still lingering in the air. The buzz from the tracker jackers have turned into a dull hum and it is enough to give me the courage to climb out of the lake. Moss's cannon hasn't fired yet and I don't want to go near him until I know he is dead. However, I don't get the pleasure of having my wants. With the knife in my hand, I take small steps toward the hole.

I can hear him moaning and crying and I can only imagine the pain that is going through his mind. When I get to the edge, I look at him. His face is completely puffed up with lumps the size of apples all along his body. I see the glass the tracker jackers were in beside Moss's head with the lid abandoned in the sand. His face never had a chance.

"Kill me," he mutters. I stand frozen as my eyes jump to his. There is a small second of sanity before the crazed look returns in him. "I don't care anymore. My message has been sent. My job is done. Just kill me."

His hands have a few stings on them, making both of them too puffed to handle the sword. The weapon is practically useless, but he can still kill me if he wants. He can be leading me into a trap. "Please, kill me." When I don't move, he yells, _"Kill me!"_

I jump back and clench the knife again. Swallowing, I step into the hole and move toward him. He doesn't even try moving away from me. I hold my weapon high, preparing myself for the strike. I take a deep breath to try to take away my nerves.

"Just don't hurt him, okay?"

My eyebrows furrow together and I look at Moss's wide eyes. "What?"

"Don't hurt Maris. Please just leave him alone." I don't know who he is talking about, but I nod anyway. He closes his eyes and remains still.

Then I let my knife plunge through his heart.

His cannon fires simultaneously and I don't know if it is because of my knife or if the venom finally got to him. Either way, it is my fault.

I pull the knife out of his body and scramble away from him. I see him now, the boy who was always a traitor to the Monsters. Someone I hated too for a little while, though I don't really know why. He was handsome once, but not anymore.

The puss and venom oozes out of the stingers, sending out the horrific pungent odor that reminds me of death. His death. I stare at the blood that runs from the wound I just gave him as well as all of the injuries from the tracker jackers. The image altogether is horrific.

The smell dances around my nose, mocking me, laughing at me as I feel myself get lightheaded. It's just a dead body. It's not even as bad as when Mack got murdered. But it's different this time because, this time, I was the killer. I killed Moss.

Clenching my stomach, I turn away from him and vomit what little I have in my stomach. When I finish relieving myself, I climb out of the hole and don't look back. He won't be my only kill if I want to make it home. The hovercraft takes him quickly and I wait for it to leave before moving again.

When I turn back to the lake, there is a small table there as if appearing out of nothing. On the table is a small, clear, glass vial with a liquid inside. It practically reads "Congratulations on your first kill; here is your prize." I snatch it from the table and swallow it down in a single gulp.

Insanity is no longer a problem now.

A sudden pain erupts on my neck and I instinctively touch where it hurts. From the corner of my eye, I see the golden insect fly away. My heart sinks as I scratch the wound on my neck until I pry the familiar stinger out of my skin.

"Shit."

I climb the tree with my supplies as fast as I can, before the venom can begin working. I pull everything on and search through my pack for the leaves that will help my sting. It was one of the first things I learned at training, and one of the few that actually stuck. I found them when I was still with the Careers and I have been saving them for this exact situation.

I throw the leaves into my mouth and chew on them before sticking them on my neck. I close my eyes as I see the sand turning into fire. It will take a while for the leaves to work. I can already feel the lump growing on my neck.

Glancing toward the lake, I decide to rinse out my wound before going back to my tree. When I take a step toward it, the water begins to shrivel up and disappears. I narrow my eyes at it and take a step away. It is the venom. The water is really still there; it has to be. I am imagining it, but I can't be too sure. My eyes glance around the oasis as the green begins to turn brown and die out. It's the venom, I chant in my head.

I begin to move away, running as fast as I can with my injured ankle. The ground begins to crumble as I walk and I fear what would happen if I fall behind it. What if it is real? No, it isn't real. This is what the venom does; it works at the mind to make it question what I already know. I know that the ground does not disappear under you, but then again, this is an arena.

I run faster anyway, eager to get to the graveyard and hide in my tree until the venom passes. I don't want to be at risk of being stabbed by tributes when all I can see are monsters.

When I make it to the graveyard, I cannot believe my eyes. There are three people there as well. How can that be? How is it that they all ended up here? I blink fiercely, trying my hardest to figure out if I am imagining this too. No, it has to be real.

I stumble behind a tombstone and wait for them to leave. We're the only ones, if I can remember correctly, and I don't want to be the next to go. However, the minute I cower behind the rock, it turns into a large bubble and pops.

This is definitely the venom. It has to be. Or is it the Gamemakers? How am I supposed to know?

I jump away from it just in case to go to another, but that turns into a bubble as well and soon the others follow. I look to the other tributes. They aren't startled by the bubbles. That means it's fake. I chant this in my head, but it doesn't change my fear as my only source of cover disappears.

I panic. What can I do? It isn't real. The tombstones are still there. Or maybe they aren't and it is the tributes I am hallucinating. Maybe they are there only to assure me that I am safe when I am not. No. No. This isn't real. It can't be.

Someone screams. A girl, I think. Another two screams follow. It must be the tributes. They are real. I am not hallucinating.

"That's only what you think," someone says. I look around for the source of the voice but I can't find them. My heart begins to quicken.

I force myself to see what is going on. A snake sticks out of the legs of the three tributes. No, it isn't a snake. I try to remember where I saw it before. It isn't a snake, but it has venom. Venom. Tracker jacker venom.

The first trap I created to protect myself started in the graveyard. A long trip wire between each tombstone that, when triggered, would send a bolt I created at the tribute's legs. The bolt was laced with tracker jacker venom. But that wasn't it. I was supposed to be able to lead them toward the tree line where I could trigger the many bombs I placed there. My objective was to lead them to the electric wall so I could kill them with the voltage plate I created.

I can still try leading them there. I take a step, but I stop. The ground is moving. I look to the others for confirmation, but I can't tell. They have begun to feel the effects as well. I risk taking another step, but I lose my balance and I collapse on a bubble that is surprisingly hard. No, it is a tombstone. I landed on a tombstone.

"It's a bubble, Jules," the voice says to me.

Glass breaks and I hear a familiar buzz. Where have I heard the buzz before? It seems so familiar. Then I see the gold. So much gold. Tracker jackers. They are in my jars. The breaking glass. They escaped. The jars broke and they escaped.

I scream and even though the ground is still moving under me, I run as fast as I can. Water. I need to get to water. But the water at the oasis is gone. Or is it? I don't want to risk checking. The forest. There is water there. My bombs are there, too.

I just run. I pass the other tributes, barely catching a glimpse of each. Claus, Aleah, and Elia. We are the final four. Joy.

I hear them following me, or maybe I'm imagining that. I don't know. I can't tell anymore. The bubbles of the tombstones begin to pop as I reach the tree line. I need to remember where I placed the bombs. I can't remember anything.

But my feet do. I stomp on the ground a little harder than necessary and an explosion goes off behind me. More fire. Roy would be proud. Roy is dead. Or is he? Did I imagine that too?

I glance behind me to see if the trees caught fire, but all I see is blue whipped cream latching onto the trees. That looks good. It makes me hungry. I haven't eaten in a while.

It isn't real. It is fire.

How do I know? It could be whipped cream.

I continue anyway, stomping on another bomb. The tributes are still following me, and so is the whipped cream. A sharp pain attacks my cheek. And then another on my arm. What else is following me? Little gold stars dance around me and whenever one touches me, I feel a sharp sting. Sting. Gold. Are they tracker jackers? I can't be sure.

Where was I going? Water. But I can't find it anymore. I don't know where I am going. The trees turn into blood. Some become the gold venom I keep in my bag. Is it real? I can't tell anymore. What is real? It's just the venom. But is it really?

I just run now, unable to find out where I am going. I don't like these stars. They are beginning to hurt. More people scream. The stars are getting them too.

I see it, a small hole far from the whipped cream and the stars. It is dark in there. Do stars like the dark? I don't know. The hole gets smaller and smaller, no matter how much faster I run.

It's the venom, I chant. I am not going crazy. It is just the venom. The ground begins to grow and has large white teeth to eat us. I yell at the tributes to watch out for it. I don't know why or if they even listen. Our only hope is the hole.

Claus passes me, his face already swollen with violet puss escaping his injuries. He dives head first into the hole without even giving it a second thought. Aleah follows him, and then it is just me and Elia with the stars. I don't like stars anymore.

The hole is dark, darker than the nights without light at home. The stars are not here anymore, and I don't know why. But there are new evils here. I don't know what happened to the others. They are gone, I guess. I don't want to see them right now anyway. I crawl into a corner and pry at where the stars touch me. They left their dust in my skin. I pry out the dust from me and let it fall to the floor. It turns into blood as it falls. When all of the dust is gone, I rest my head down.

My body throbs with the pain. Horrific images attack me everywhere I look.

"It's just the venom," I mutter weakly. I can't stop my body from trembling as I enter my first of many nightmares.

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><p><strong>Thank you to the AMAZING nightfuries who made this list for me to give to all of you. Make sure to thank her!<strong>

Sapphire Tree, District 9 Female: knife stabbed into throat by Hyre Fletching

Relk Stein, District 6 Male: spear thrust into stomach by himself

Vaughn Shumway, District 11 Male: spear to the chest by Boston Williams

Skye Azurite, District 1 Female: knife stabbed into stomach by Lilly Cross

Maia Spring, District 8 Female: dagger flung into back by Aleah Armani

Clude Miller, District 12 Male: knife thrown into stomach by Onyx Marshal

Onyx Marshal, District 2 Female: knife stabbed into stomach by Hyre Fletching/herself. Counted as Hyre Fletching's kill.

Rena Sage, District 6 Female: knife to the head by Elia Zervakos

Mack Tully, District 3 Male: torn apart with knife by Claus Hendall

Tara Tremain, District 12 Female: sword through chest, hammer to head by Boston Williams

Oak Loaker, District 8 Male: suffocated by Boston Williams

Boston Williams, District 10 Male: trident to the chest by Elia Zervakos

Lilly Cross, District 11 Female: died from infection of wound given to her by Skye Azurite

Roy Rousseau, District 1 Male: died from stepping into fire set by himself, could count as killed by Aspen Checkov

Aspen Checkov, District 7 Male: died from throat slit by Aleah Armani

Hyre Fletching, District 2 Male: died from injuries/trident spearing by Elia Zervakos

Ari Locus, District 9 Male: died by strangulation by Moss Dorian

Aella Dekas, District 5 Female: died by knife by Aleah Armani

Nella Burchalyn, District 7 Female: died by knife by Claus Hendall

Moss Dorian, District 4 Male: died by tracker jackers and knife by Jules Surket

**Summary of tributes still alive:**

District 1 – None

District 2 – None

District 3 – Jules Surket

District 4 – Elia Zervakos

District 5 – Claus Hendall

District 6 – none

District 7 – none

District 8 – none

District 9 – none

District 10 – Aleah Armani

District 11 – none

District 12 - none


	64. Feeding Frenzy

**A/N: WHOO! We initially had two "extra" chapters planned for TOB. However due to time constraints/things not being turned in they next two chapters have been cut. You won't be able to tell the difference that they're gone-I know, because I've read the end...or well, one of them. That's right folks! We have the true ending and an _alternate_ one!**

**The conclusion has been moved up to June 14 and 16th. Are you ready? Quell is just around the corner...**

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><p><strong>Aleah Armani of District 10<strong>

**written by cottoncandychocshop**

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><p>'<em>Courage is the art of being the only one who knows you're scared to death.'<em>_  
><em>_**-**__Earl Wilson_

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><p>The next...however many hours it lasted...were arguably the weirdest in my life.<p>

I'll take you through the extremely perplex and demented series events that occurred during that minefield that is my subconscious. So initially, I was sitting on this fairly plain wooden chair. Simple enough right? Nothing particularly terrible or strange about that? Well that's what I thought too, until this large, shiny, raven coloured crow emerged next to me. Innocent enough? Yeah, until the crow started pecking at me, it's huge yellow beak piercing my skin over and over again. I started yelling all kind of profanities at it and thrashing and swatting at it, hoping it would go away, and yet the freaking bird just kept pecking and pecking at me. Then out of nowhere, a big wooden club emerged next to me and I used it to bash the crow from the side and for a few moments it was still, but then it got back up and started pecking at me again. Next came a shiny golden dagger, which I stabbed the crow with, but just like before it got back up and started attacking me again. Finally a huge, black rifle materialised next to me, and I went on an absolute crow massacre, repeatedly raining ammunition down on that son of bitch crow's head, shooting and shooting until I was out of ammunition. I realise that may have been a tad excessive, but you have no idea how damn annoying that stupid little bird had been. And then of course, after being dead for a considerably longer period of time then it had for the last two times, can you blame it the feathered devil had more bullet holes in it than skin at that point, got back up and started pecking at me again. So, who wants to try and interpret that for me, I dare you. I'm sure if you try really hard you'd be able to deduce that the crow was a metaphor or was anthropomorphic for some reason or some analytical psychological crap like that. Whatever, psychology is a myth anyway.

The next one was slightly easier to decode. I was on a wooden platform with three levers in front of me and a noose around my neck. Yet I wasn't the only one standing on the platform, Elia, Claus, Jules and to my surprise Sean, were all there with me, each one of them adorned with a noose as well. Yes, I know it's a rather strange thing for the subconscious of a sixteen year old girl to create, but what can I say, I'm not your average sixteen year old. I moved over to the first lever, and as I pulled it and dislodged it out of position a trapdoor emerged from under Jules feet and she plunged down a few feet before I heard the very distinct 'crack' of her neck snapping. I moved to the second, pulled it, and Claus followed Jules' fate. But when I moved to the third and pulled it, both Elia and Sean fell to their deaths, leaving me standing all alone as I looked at nothing but the corpses of the people in front of me. I know, my brain is pretty damaged for me to come up with shit like this, but I'll blame it on the venom.

They went over and over, different and increasingly painful scenarios that just kept assaulting my brain over and over. Being chained up and thrown into a lake, and feeling my lungs fill up with water as I gasped over and over for oxygen. Feeling the repeated stings of pain as I was being cut over and over again by big shiny pieces of paper until eventually I was bled dry. Being locked in a tiny, iron casket and then buried under tons and tons of thick, black dirt and feeling the air around me thin as time passed. I died over and over again, each way more painful and more terrifying that the last. And what was worse, was that when I woke up after however long it was I was out, I could remember every single second of what my demented, venom induced brain had put me through.

I think they were dreams, I hope they were dreams, but in all honesty for those couple of hours I legitimately lost all sense of space and time, nothing but the venom and all its marvellous joys existed. Then out of nowhere it suddenly kind of hit me, where and when and how I was. I'm in the final four.

I couldn't help but smile at the thought of Heath's face at that prospect, or the faces of anyone in the capitol for that matter. Thinking about the statistics of the four of us left I realise that on paper I must look like the underdog. I mean think about it: Jules, Elia, Claus, they're from districts three four and five respectively, and I'm from ten, an outlying district. Just that would suggest to any of those conceited, prejudiced Capitolites that I'd be the weakest link. Psh, how wrong could they be? Plus all three of them were allies at one point, they were each one time or another part of the career pack. Me, I've been on my own the entire games, excluding the occasional manipulative alliance here and there. If any lingering ties existed between the three of them guess who just grew a very large target on her forehead.

Then if you individually analysed my opponents you'd probably come to the conclusion that I'd logically be the next to go. Seriously just look at them; Elia: strong, good with weapons, has trained before, has a mentor for a husband and is pregnant on top of it all. She may have been able to hide that scandalous fact from most people but after little Ceasar had spilt the beans I had watched Elia particularly carefully, and whether it was subconscious or not the repeated longing glances and the gentle caresses she had given her stomach when she thought no one was watching were enough of a giveaway. She'd have to be the one that people were betting on, hands down. Then you've got Claus, he was already quite physically blessed, being tall and strongly built but now he's got some crazy, psychotic alter ego thing going on who has even fewer moral qualms than I do. And then of course there's Jules, who up until yesterday I had pretty much forgotten even existed. Until yesterday I had had no idea how she had managed to survive this long, but after that whole tracker jacker venom trick she pulled yesterday, which I'll admit I'm both furious and slightly envious of, I can see that she's survived the same way I have, using her brain not her brawn. Obviously she just hung onto her chips quietly and then decided to go all in yesterday, and I guess you can all decide whether or not you think it paid off. Considering that there are still three of us who survived her trap, I would have to say not.

So I guess on paper I would be the underdog, the one with the worst odds, but this is reality and not everything can be deduced by looking at probability. Coming into this game I was just a thin, physically weak little girl from district ten with a pretty average training score, someone they probably didn't think would last more than a few days maximum. I'm still all those things, and yet here I am, in the final four, the last outlier left alive. They may have seen me as an underdog, but_I_ never for once thought I was one. Do I give a crap that no one was betting on me? No, because I've been betting on myself this whole time and that's all I've ever needed.

My whole body seems to shut down for a second, and my face falls as I realise just where I am and how I got here. I hadn't even thought about it yesterday, hadn't even considered my actions when I had jumped into that opening in the ground below my feet, I had just known that I had to get away from Jules and her bloody venom trap before I got any more that toxic stuff into me. But now the venom has hopefully passed out of my system and I know where I am, and I groan a little at the realisation of it. I'm underground.

My eyes, now adjusted to the very miniscule amount of light around me, can see nothing but rock and earth around me, and I start to feel my heart rate speed up a little and my breath come quicker. This passage is only about five metres wide, and the roof is easily within my reach. I look to my left and I can see that this path forks off in three different directions at an intersection about ten metres down the way. The only issue is that I have no idea freaking clue where I am, and absolutely no idea which of those paths leads where. Ironic isn't it, the only area in this whole goddamn arena that I have absolutely no knowledge of, and now I'm going to be stuck in this hellhole for the rest of the games. Those Gamemakers really have a sense of humour.

Admittedly there is a reason I haven't ventured down into this death trap, besides it obviously being the absolute stupidest place to venture into: I mean seriously who knows what the hell could be down here? I could turn a corner and get my skull bashed off my neck before even seeing what happened, or take one unguided step and tumble into some huge, giant abyss and fall some horrific distance to my death, and those are just off the top of my head. I imagine the Gamemakers have things planned in their seriously fucked up minds that even someone as morally inept as _me_wouldn't be able to conceive. But that's not the reason. And if any of you had been paying any kind of attention, you probably would be able to take a guess at it. The thing is, the really stupid and the really irrational thing is, this place terrifies me.

Okay, 'terrifies' is probably a bit of an overstatement on my part. Look it's not that I'm _scared_ or anything, I'm just not really a fan of small spaces. Can you blame me for wanting access to a little fresh air, a little sunlight, perhaps a small breeze, just the kind of things that help a person to remember they're actually alive? I begin pressing against the roof of the tunnel, hoping to find one of those points of weakness that I had found above ground before entering this hellhole, or even one of the openings to this bitch of a labyrinth, but nothing. I walk around for maybe half an hour, using all the force in my arms to press up on the roof of earth above me but every rock was sealed perfectly in place.

I press my back against one of the cold, hard walls of rock next to me, and claw at the rock under my fingertips, trying to get some kind of handhold. _Snap the hell out of this Aleah! You're not some weak, pathetic coward like all those other brainless half-wits! Fight this!_But no matter how many abusive, albeit rational, demands my subconscious barks at me it's no use. All I can hear is my heart thundering in my ears, all I can feel is the trembling of my own body against the rock beneath me and the small beads of sweat slowly trailing down my forehead. I gasp for breath, trying desperately to get some of the little oxygen left in this air into my lungs, feeling like I am being internally strangled. I rake my hands through my hair, grasping onto huge clumps of hair and pulling them, hoping the tiny stings of pain would snap me out of this, but nothing works.

Then, somehow, some of my fear turns to anger, which I find much easier to channel then the fear. I curl my fists into tight balls and begin bashing them against the wall closest to me, using every inch of strength I have in my thin frame into each punch, screaming and raving as I attack the rock. The rock, I'm happy to say, fared very well despite this attack, not budging one goddamn inch. My fists, on the other hand, bore the brunt of the rock's retaliation, and they were bruised and covered in blood and dirt in minutes.

"I want out," I say through closed teeth in between each gasping breath, still attacking the walls around me with all the force I have in me, "I want out _now!_"

The worst thing is, I _know_this is irrational, I _know_that there's really not anything to fear from being trapped ten feet underground in a small dark tunnel. I _know_that I look like one of the biggest morons on the planet right now, clambering for breath, kicking and writhing against a freaking rock wall hoping I'd gain some unbelievable inhuman strength and would be able to get myself the hell out of here. But even though I knew that it was completely idiotic to be this bloody terrified of this place, I was still scared absolutely shitless. And I think that scared me just as much as being trapped down here did.

Okay fine, I'll say it. I, Aleah Armani, am claustrophobic.

I can picture the absolute smile of triumph on Boston's face if he had been alive to watch this, can imagine all the mocking taunts that would come out of his huge meaty face. I can practically hear the swarm of ridiculing jeers now.

"Aleah Armani, the girl who was _absolutely_fearless-"

"Untouchable-"

"Didn't even _blink_ when she had to kill someone-"

"Wouldn't falter when attacked-"

"Took on people three time her size-"

"Made us all think she was invincible-"

"But was a coward all this time-"

"A chicken-"

"A baby-"

"A wimp-"

Their sneers enraged me, their self-satisfied taunts empowered me, their condescending mockery gave me more of a reason to fight this than I could give myself. I couldn't show anyone my fear, couldn't let them see my weakness, not if I'm going to make it out of here alive, and believe me I _am_going to make it out of here. I will not die down here, not here in my own personal hell of all places. I'd always laughed at people when they told me the specific ways they never wanted to die, saying something along the lines of "no matter where or how you die you'll still end with the same result: dead," but now I'm actually starting to understand a little. Look at me, empathising. Next I'll be attempting to justify self-sacrifice. Actually no, I'm not quite that far gone, I'll never be _that_ far gone no matter how frightened I am.

I back away from the wall, clench my teeth and my fists and begin heading cautiously down through the rock passages, almost pretending like none of that had happened. I wore my best nonchalant look, adorning my trademark smirk as I walked, hoping that it would convince anyone watching that I was over what had just happened. But despite my cool exterior, inside I was still writhing with blockheaded fear and anxiety. It took all my will to keep forcing myself to walk, every step feeling like I was wading through water. I tried to ignore the feeling of suffocating but it was there all the time, pressing on my brain and causing my whole body to shake. It gets the point where I feel like the walls around me are closing in on me, pressing down on me. Actually, it's not all the walls, just the one right in front of me.

I stop in my tracks and am about to begin slinging all kind of curses at myself to get myself to calm the hell down, when I realised this is more than just a feeling. I can actually see that wall closing in towards me, I can hear the sound of rock grinding against rock as it moves closer and closer towards me. And it's not moving slowly either, covering metres in mere seconds. I don't hesitate another moment, I begin high-tailing it back the way I came, my terror pushing me faster than I had ever run before in my life.

"Shit," I whispered to myself as I hear the wall getting closer and closer to me, "Shit. Shit. Shit. Shit. _Shit_."

I keep moving, and each time I come to an intersection I sidestep and run in a different direction, feeling like some kind of trapped rat. But each time I turn a corner a different wall begins to close in, pushing me in the direction that they apparently want me to go in. Every time I get within five feet of the moving walls I let out a tiny shout, before retreating backwards and sprinting back away from the rocks. I look up at the roof while running, and shake my head with a little laugh.

"You guys have a _really_ sick sense of humour, you know that?" I shout up at the Gamemakers as I twist around another turn, "Like, seriously? Can't you get off on something _other_than torturing me?"

I think it's probably a good thing I can't get a reply, or a gun shoved in my face, like I'm sure I would have if I said that to one of them in person. I'm not quite sure whether or not it's my imagination but I swear the walls begin to move even faster.

"I was joking!"

The thing about running around like an ant about to be killed with a magnifying glass in the dark like I am is that it is very hard to keep any kind of track of where the hell I'm going, nor how freaking long I've been running for. All I know is that my legs feel like lead, my chest is absolutely burning and I pretty much can't breathe, which admittedly doesn't have all that much to do with the running. It gets to the point where I'm pretty sure those sadistic bastards don't even have any kind of purpose in making me run like this; they just want to see me sweat a little. That is until I turn one final corner and fall, literally, into a huge, high ceilinged cavern.

I lie on my hands and knees for a few relieved moments, trying to let my ridiculously overworked heart get back to pumping at a normal rate and attempting to force some oxygen into my seriously famished lungs. My pulse, eventually, gets back to a somewhat healthy level and my breathing begins to calm down a tad. I'll admit, it's kind of tempting to just lie down on the floor with my eyes closed and my hands covering my face forever, but please, like I could stay shut up forever. Eventually some moron would come around and practically beg me to tear them to shreds: I wouldn't last through the day just lying down peacefully. So, somehow, using an annoyingly large amount of effort, I manage to peel myself up off my hands and knees and back onto my feet before looking around this lovely piece of scenery.

Look, there's not much I can say about this place. Basically, cover your eyes with your hands and that's about as much visibility as there is, so my description's can only be so good. On top of that, there really isn't anything particularly interesting about this, oh you know except for some rocks, some more rocks and what would you know it _even more rocks._ This place that the Gamemaker's had lead me into was pretty much a big, empty cavern of, you guessed it, rock. Maybe these Gamemakers should go into interior designing when they tire of torturing young kids; I mean seriously the aesthetics of this place are just _marvellous._

I snap myself out of my observation mode when I start to hear a low rumbling echoing from one of rear passages leading into the cavern and I start to see small fragments of rock crumbling off of the walls and rolling onto the floor. Brilliant. Just what I needed to deal with right now, a freaking earthquake. But, no, it's not an earthquake, for one where I am the walls, mercifully, aren't falling down, and for two this low rumbling noise that's reverberating off the walls is getting louder. Fast.

I retreat back as far away from the noise as far as I can, my knives clenched tightly in my fists as I wait for whatever monstrosity is about to befall on me. So somehow, when I see Claus run around the corner and out into the open I almost laugh at the sight of him, and wonder how the hell the oaf could have made _that_much noise. Until I see what it actually it is that's causing the world around me to tremble and for a deafening racket to echo off all the stone walls. And believe me, monstrosity is an understatement. Because milliseconds later, following hot on Claus' heels, emerges more than half a dozen huge, raving rats.

For the first few moments I legitimately think that I must still be massively juiced up on tracker jacker venom, because there is no way I can actually be seeing what I'm seeing. There's no way that those things can possibly exists. For one, they're freaking _huge_, I'm talking rats literally six feet tall and a couple of hundred pounds in weight. How the hell they managed to fit inside those small rock passages without decapitating themselves I will never know. And then on top of that, I refuse to believe that anything that ugly could have even been fathomed, let alone genetically engineered to look like that. I mean for God's sake, their thick blackish-brownish fur was covered in what had to be _kilos_ of thick black grime and dirt, their long yellow teeth were protruding out of their frothing mouths and their curved claws hung from tiny, way under proportioned sized limbs. They were so bloody grotesque it was almost comical, well it would have been comical, if their huge bloodshot eyes hadn't been looking so feverish, and strangely familiar. Oh! I know where I'd seen that look before, on Boston, right before he had attempted to ever so politely bash my head in with that sword of his. Awesome. Anyways, the mutt rodents were just that horrific that I was honestly thinking that I was just seeing things, that was until they saw me, and started following Claus towards me with that primal look in their eyes.

"You have _got_to be kidding me," I groan to myself as I brace to defend myself, both from the mutts and from the considerably unstable boy running head on towards me. Once Claus get's within my reach I step forward and kick my leg out as high as it can go, hitting him square in the chest. He gasps for a few seconds but keeps coming towards me, his arms held up in front of him. The pack of rats has us cornered against this wall, circling in towards us with a definite pack mentality. Great, not only are they like vicious rats on super steroids, they have predatorial pack instincts as well. Gotta love life some times.

"What was that?" Claus booms, moving towards me and away from the mutts, but making sure to keep out of my reach.

"What do you mean 'what was that?'?" I ask mockingly, warily watching the approaching swarm of rodents, "When one of your last three competitors runs at me, I think it is well within my rights to attempt to kick the crap out of him. Can't you count, you twit?"

"There are a pack of angry rats chasing after me, can you blame me for trying to get as far away from them as possible?" He asks sounding confounded.

"No shit you wanted to get away from them," I say as I throw one of my smaller knives out towards the pack, hitting one of the ugly vermin square in the chest and sending it crashing to the ground in a squealing heap, "But if you thought I'd be any more hospitable than a swarm of rabies infested rodents think again buddy."

"Look, there are eight of them, and two of us," Claus pants out as he pulls out his billy club from behind his back, "Can we not just put this on pause for a few seconds, cause if not we'll both get eaten alive down here. "

"That depends, am I talking to Jekyll or Hyde?" I shoot quickly, swiping at the frothing snout of one of the huge, festering rodents causing a stream of thick black blood to pool from its wound.

"Oh you're so funny," he murmurs lightly as he strikes an oncoming rodent on the top of the head, bashing it's skull with the hilt of his billy club.

"Hyde then I take it," I send the blade of my knife into the forehead of one of the mutts just as another one comes at me from the side. I drop to the ground and slash at its legs, small twig like things that I can barely believe support this obese rodent's significant weight, and completely sever the rat from its limbs, causing it to crumple and smash to the ground. Two down, six to go.

"No he's not-" Claus stutters, managing to not get his head ripped off by the long, sharp claws of one of the rats with about a millisecond to spare, "I mean he's doesn't...I'm- I'm me."

One of the rats from behind me lets out a rabid, feral snarl and I turn around just in time to see its open mouth bearing down at me. I plunge my knife into the roof of its mouth and out through the top of its skull, its bloodshot eyes dazing over almost immediately. Far out that was _way_too close for my liking, as much as I'd love become rat-nip it would be rather inconvenient for them to have to reassemble to chunks of my flesh into something remotely human when they sent me back in a box to Sean and my family. You're welcome for that mental image by the way.

"Well then, you," I spit out venomously, "Would you do something worthwhile please? That's three for me and absolutely zero for you, despite common belief I'm not _actually_ a one woman army."

He glares at me as he bashes his club into the temple of another one of the rats, but he just doesn't seem to realise that when wooden club vs incredibly thick skulled, giant rodents, the billy club is never going to win. As he turns around to try and bat away the two rats that are closing in on him I see that he has a very familiar looking broadsword strapped in a sheath to his back.

"You have a freaking broadsword," I exclaim in between curses, "Why the hell are you using that bloody club."

"I'm better with it," he spits back quickly as one of the damn rodents claws scrapes against my shoulder, causing me to yelp a little.

The scrape stings a little and I can feel a small trickle of blood running down my upper arm but I simple let out a few profanities before calling back over to Claus, "Look let me teach you a basic lesson here. If you want to give the rat a small lesson in discipline by all means keep using the overgrown stick in your hands. If you actually feel like not getting turned into a human popsicle and want to maybe do me a favour and take out one of those rats, you need to use something sharp_."_As if to demonstrate, my knife finds a home in the neck of one of the rats attacking me, and it immediately slumps to the floor.

I swear I can almost see Claus roll his eyes a little as he reaches up over his head, grips onto the hilt of the sword, and brings it swinging down into the top of the head of the rat that is biting into his ankle, almost splitting the rat's head in half. I'll admit, I was pretty impressed, but I think he was equally as surprised as I was. Claus looks over at me with an almost self-satisfied grin, before his eyes widen a little. At the look of shock and surprise on his face, I immediately drop to the floor, just in time to watch one of the mutts leap over where I had previously been standing. I'm up in seconds and have my knife lodged into its back in moments. It twitches a little as my knife lodges in its spinal column. Well good to know that the feral beast have nerves hey, means I know they feel pain. One of the other mutts dives at me in the same instance but I throw the body of its friend at it, the deadweight pinning it down momentarily. I turn and look over to Claus, who is just about to, awkwardly, send his sword through the heart of one of the rats, when the other knocks him from the side, causing him to fall off balance. It then swings it's sharp claws out towards him, and then digs its claws into the flesh on his chest, causing bright red blood to rain down on the giant mutt. Claus yelps out in pain as the skin off his chest is ripped off his bones, but at the same time thrusts his sword point through the stomach of the mutt attacking him. Both the mutt and Claus fall to the ground, but Claus manages to crawl away from the disgusting creature's corpse before it lands on him.

At the smallest taste of Claus' blood the remaining two rabid animals began to frenzy, their snarls and thrashing increasing to the point where they didn't even look like animals anymore, just like instinctive, bloodthirsty beasts. Luckily, due to some kind of miracle, the two remaining mutts began to feast on the body of one of the dead rats, the one that had got its claws into Claus' chest. Actually, I don't think it was a miracle at all, I could see why they were doing it. The rat's body was splattered in the blood that had erupted out of Claus' chest wound, and the scent of human blood that was causing them to frenzy like this was overpowering their crappy sense of sight. I.e. The brainless vermin were thinking that it was Claus they were so feverishly devouring, because the smell of his blood was enough evidence that it was his body they were making a meal out of. But the more of Claus' blood they tasted, the more fervently they devoured the flesh of their kin, obviously one dead rodent wasn't enough to curb the appetites of these half-witted beasts. Talk about your serious case of the munchies. As much as I just wanted to get as far away as physically possible from those mutts before they finished 'omnom'ing on what was very quickly become a rats carcass, I knew that the more blood they got, the more they'd want, which meant I couldn't let them turn Claus into a human hamburger or they'd want to devour me next.

I roll my eyes and give an exasperated sigh, "Only me. I am the only person who could keep getting involved in shit like this."

I crouch down and try to lift Claus' surprisingly heavy form onto me so that I could support him enough for the both of us to walk away from this goddamn cavern, but the oaf is considerably heavier than he looks. Time to lose a couple of pounds maybe? Being my size may not be great when it came to fighting seven foot tall three hundred pound tributes but it made me a really great damsel in distress, just think of how easy I'd be into scoop into your arms, assuming I didn't stick a knife into your esophageus for trying to carry me. Yeah you know what, I don't recommend ever calling me a damsel in distress, you may walk away from the conversation down an internal organ or two. I had to settle for getting his arm wrapped around my shoulder and trying to get him to move.

"Look unless you want to end up like Ratatouille over there I suggest you hurry the hell up," I hiss, feeling almost like I'm dragging a corpse here. Claus can barely stand on his feet, the blood from his chest wound seeping out and drenching his shirt, and mine. His face is a ridiculously unhealthy shade of white, and beads of sweat are forming on his shaking brow. But I push him on nevertheless; I don't give two shits about how fervently he's knocking on death's door I'm not going to let those mutts get so much as another shot's worth of human blood.

Somehow, mercifully, we make it out of the cavern and around a few turns before Claus completely collapses to the ground, falling in a pile of limbs on the rocky earth beneath us. I groan and begin cursing at the general weakness of people, before grabbing him by the foot and pulling him into a terribly small space. My pulse begins thundering in my ears again and I begin to lose my breath as I take in the absolute lack of space around the two of us, but out there in the larger tunnel it is still far too open, and those rats can only feed on their fallen comrade for so long before they begin to want some after lunch snacks. Claus lies on his back and vacantly looks up at the roof of rock above his head, his breath coming in slow, shallow gasps as his body trembles ardently.

"Why-"he starts, but he has to take another breath because he doesn't have enough air to manage to puff out a whole sentence, "Why'd you...get me out...of there?"

I laugh darkly and roll my eyes again. My god they're all so eager to think someone wants to save their lives. Nella, Aspen and now even Claus, all looking for some sense of morality in me. I wonder if they ever found one, I haven't yet, "If you're thinking it was to spare you a horrifically painful death don't flatter yourself. Didn't you watch those filthy vermin munching away on that rat covered in your blood? With each mouthful they just got hungrier, and while I would have been more than happy to let you be the main course, I didn't really feel like being desert."

He doesn't respond, just stares up with a moronically blank expression on his face. His face contorts in pain with each husky breath and his sweat covered body begins to shake more and more with each second. I raise my knife up and hold it up over his throat, about to slice it across when he coughs out, "No! No-just...just leave me here."

I hold my knife back and look at him with an incredibly confused yet patronising look, "Look dude I'm going to be very, very clear with you. You're dying, and there's nothing anyone can do to stop that, not after a considerable chunk of your chest got torn off your bones."

"I...I know," Claus whispers, the shaking in his body increasing, but he still looked at me with a determined stare.

"Do you enjoy literally watching the life seep out of you?" I ask condescendingly, "I'm trying to do you a favour here. You know...ease your passing or whatnot." I don't know about him, but personally I would have rather just been done with it, quick and relatively pain free rather than physically watching myself die, mind you we all knew Claus isn't exactly all there.

"Just...just go," he says fixedly, looking back up at the ceiling, "I need time to...I need time. I need time alone. Leave me...here to die alone."

Okay, so the kid's some sadistic, pain-loving freak and he wants to enjoy a long and painful death. I may not understand the logic but who am I to deny him his dying wish? I take a deep breath, trying to understand what the hell must be going through that incredibly strange kid's head as he stares at the ceiling like it holds all the answers to the universe. I get up and walk back into the larger tunnel, taking one last look at the certifiably crazy district five boy behind me, still lying and staring blankly at the ceiling above him, before I begin sprinting away as fast as possible.

After running for about another twenty minutes I hear the echo of the squealing mutt rats, echoing off the side of the tunnel, causing a tiny shiver to go down my spine. I look up at the ceiling, or more pointedly at the cameras I know are sitting in the ceiling. I can still hear my fear, my anxiety, screaming down at me, but after coming so close to losing my life today there's something else there with the fear: fury. Fury at the people who have taken so much pleasure in creating more and more inhumane, monstrous ways of tormenting me. So many people have fallen at their hands, but I am not going to be one them, they will not break me, they _cannot_break me. They can make me live through my greatest fear, the can send horrors in here to kill me, they can force me to commit supposedly atrocious actions, but they can't break me. I have no doubt they'll try, but if they haven't learnt yet that I'm not someone who snaps easily then they're really don't know much about the pieces in their own games. I give the cameras a knowing smile, strong yet mischievous.

"I will get out of this place," I swear, not a single hint of doubt in my voice, "Just you watch. I will get out of here."

And that's when I hear Claus' cannon fire.


	65. Still Alive

**We're so close to the conclusion! Hold on to your pants, because it's going to be a gnarly ride!**

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><p><strong>Jules Surket, District 3<strong>

**By Fritz as Pritz**

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><p>"<em>Endurance is not just the ability to bear a hard thing, but to turn it into glory." <em>

—William Barclay

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><p>When I wake up, I'm almost surprised to not see the room trying to eat me or my mother dying in my arms. I blink a few times trying to make sure I am truly seeing correctly. The air is still and the thin light that comes from the fire torches give it an eerie feeling. My fingers still tremble from the many nightmares of the venom.<p>

They started out simple. My own horrible death by Claus or Mack or being burned alive by Roy or strangled by Boston. Those I could handle to some extent. It was when they started to move to my family and friends that things began to spiral out of control. I imagined my mother trying to kill me because she thought I was a mutt of one of her stillborns. My friends were slowly and painfully torn apart. They would cry out and wonder why I let them do this; why I am just standing there doing nothing. I couldn't move in this scenario, no matter how much I cried.

I had to watch Kane, one of my closest friends, get his heart ripped out by a mutt. The mutt would then throw it at me and say, "He did say that it would always belong to you." That one scared me the most. I always cried freely when that one came up and I want to cry again now just thinking about it.

There is one that leaves me completely dumbfounded, even now as I think back on it. It is with my brother, Qulome. We were walking where we always went on Fridays after he finished work. His arm was around my shoulder and he was talking about his girlfriend and how he was going to propose. Then he turned to me and placed a hand on my cheek. "Jules, this is it. This is our future." Then slowly he begins to dissolve. I asked him what he meant, but he kept saying that this was our future. Then everything else dissolved with him. I was left in a black oblivion that still leaves me shaken.

I swallow back everything. They were only images. None of it is real. I am still alive. My parents still love me. My friends are safe and sound. What I would give to see them all right now. To have my brother pull me into one of his bear hugs and tell me everything is going to be okay; to hear Kane, Emben, and Jay teasing me about being such a klutz and singing horribly; to hear my mother laugh and my father's gentle voice as he says, "Great job, kiddo." I release a heavy breath. I am safe. They are safe. If I play my cards right, I will be home.

But no amount of cards can help me now. My competition is Elia, Claus, and Aleah. All of them can probably kill me with their pinkies. The only one I might have a chance with is Claus, and even then if his other self comes out, I am a goner. There is no way I can possibly win this.

_No matter what, keep on hoping_.

But I guess I have to try.

What do I know about each of them? I know virtually nothing about Aleah, except that Boston hated her guts, and she annoyed the hell out of me. She will be the hardest one to anticipate and counter. She is known for her jarring comments and being a jackass, but for every hard exterior there is a softer interior. If I can get to that somehow, I might have a chance.

Claus comes to my mind next. My best chance of survival is probably with him, especially if it is the real Claus and not the violent one who almost killed me. He is the weaker of the three (the real Claus is anyway) and I know I can get him somehow. But can I? I remember envisioning his death by my hand for the longest time, but could I really kill him? I shake my head of that train of thought.

Last, but definitely not least, is Elia. I know I have no chance against her physically. I probably don't stand any chance with her at all. I know how she works, I've seen it, and maybe this small insight into her mind will help me. Or maybe not. If my earlier suspicions were correct, then she is with child and if there is one thing I know for certain it is that a mother will go to the ends of the earth for her child. Endgame: I will probably die by Elia's hand.

Hell, I'll probably die by all of their hands. I run my fingers through my short hair. Smirking, I remember when my brother was making sure I was alright after my hair caught on fire. I kept complaining and falling in my own pool of self-pity. My brother then took a step back, looked at me, and said, "You know, pitiful helplessness isn't a good color on you."

He's right. I need to focus on the solution and not the problem. What do I have that they don't? My brain and my traps. That is how I can fight them.

I pull my bag to me and empty all of the contents out. Immediately, I toss out the jar of pheromones. It's pretty useless since I have no more tracker jackers. Next, I pull out the leaves to help with the tracker jacker injuries and apply them accordingly. Once that is finished, I lay everything out so I can see them perfectly. My array of items is still large and I think I can get some good out of what is left. The gears in my head begin to turn and slowly my mind begins to drift…

_BANG!_

I jump out of my stupor and glance around. Someone just died. Good, one less person I have to deal with. I can only hope that it was one of the girls. This also means I'm running out of time. Unconsciously, my hand goes to the match box. An idea strikes me. My hands begin to break off the match heads and place them on a piece of foil that was used as a bag for food. I crush up the heads as small as I can then wrap it in the foil before taping it down. I do this a couple of times then place my makeshift smoke bombs in my pockets. That won't be enough, of course, but I figure it could be a decent stepping stone.

The ground begins to shake. I stuff everything in my bag as fast as I can and begin to move. The Gamemakers are trying to lead me somewhere and for now, I'm willing to comply. I make sure the syringe of venom is still in my pocket, as well as my gold-tinted knife before heading through the tunnels.

The walls come in closer to me, leading me toward their desired location, probably toward a tribute. I hope it's Claus. I hope more than anything that it's Claus.

When the ground stops shaking and the walls remain steady, I find myself in a small square room with only one exit. I guess that is where my competitor is going to come at me. I toss my bag to the side and clench my knife. I can use the smoke bombs now, but then if I survive, I will have nothing later on. If I survive. Maybe one of them if I get desperate enough and I have the time. If I remain on my feet and wear down my competitor some, maybe that can help. There are too many "if"s and "maybe"s for my liking.

There is one thing I do know; that there is no way I can try stabbing them with my knife. That is out of the question not only because getting that close would be impossible without my ultimate demise but because I wield my knife as if it is a crayon.

A shiny image pops into my head. It is of me, sprawled on the floor. Blood covers every inch of my body. Even my face is covered. Standing above me is a tribute with a knife drenched in my blood. The tribute leans toward me, sneering and finally takes off my head with one definitely blow.

It had to of been from the venom. I don't remember this one coming to me but I have no doubt that it was there. The memory of it leaves me shaken. This could be how I die. If Aleah is the one who comes or even Claus then this could be my fate. I could very well be stabbed and beheaded. Swallowing back my greatest fear, I clench my stomach.

Licking my lips, I take deep heavy breaths. I need to keep my hope up. I can win this. There are only two others left. I can still win. But can I really? Realistically, can I make it back home? A cold epiphany strikes me down. I can't get home. No amount of hoping can get me back into my mother's arms.

She stumbles into the square, her red hair flowing behind her. She holds her trident out in front of her, ready to strike me down where I stand. My stomach churns and my legs feel weak. Of all the people to have to fight me right now, it had to be her. It had to be the girl I knew I could not beat.

"Hey, Elia," I mutter weakly. "Long time no see." She looks at me (practically unarmed) and almost looks regretful. She doesn't want to kill me anymore than I want to kill her. However, her brow furrows together and her grip becomes stronger. She won't let me get in the way of her returning home.

Elia runs toward me, prepared to fight. Fighting. I may be dying here, but I won't just lie down. I may not stand a chance, but who knows, maybe luck will be on my side today.

I hold my breath and meet her half way.


	66. The Devil's in the Details

_A/N:_ Ahhhh! Things are kind of crazy here. We're all a bit...excited.

A publication contacted us and interviewed me (Phoenix Refrain) about fanfiction. There's supposed to be an article in the next week or two. I'm not sure how much we're in it-or whether by name or what (or if she focused on me or the story overall). I have no idea.

More details when we know more!

Now about the story, we're ALMOST there. Final three...and by the end of this chapter...

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><p><em>Apathy is a sort of living oblivion.<em>

_~Horace Greeley_

**Elia Zervakos, District 4**

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><p>Everything's <em>shiny. <em>Well not quite everything, but lots of things. The colorful bats in the cave, the sparkly orange substance…most of me knows that this is the effect of the tracker jacker venom, but a growing part of me is slipping into what I can only assume is insanity. I know I shouldn't be looking at the pretty bats, that I shouldn't allow myself to be distracted by them, but a growing part of me doesn't _care_.

How am I not dead yet? Aren't tracker jackers supposed to be deadly? I was strung quite a bit. _I should be dead now. _I shudder at the thought, and then shrug my shoulders. I don't care anymore. I really, truly don't. I miss my husband and my family, and I want to win and get home to them, but it's now down to the final four. Me, Claus, Jules, and Aleah. If I die, at least I've made it this far. At least they'll know I tried.

I glance down at my torn black shirt and run my fingers across my stomach. I wish that I was far enough along to feel her moving, especially since there's a high chance that we're not getting out of the arena, but unfortunately, a month and a few days is still far too early for any real evidence of the pregnancy. I sigh and whisper an apology to her so softly that I doubt any cameras picked it up.

"I know Mommy promised, but I'm not too sure about getting out of here anymore. I'm sorry." She can't hear me, she can't understand, but that's alright. I just needed to say it. I've lost almost all hope at this point. I'm tired, worn out, I look and feel like a tidal wave picked me up and threw me around, I'm dehydrated, stung by those damned mutated wasps, and now I'm starting to hallucinate. The scariest part? I'm starting to lose the ability to differentiate between hallucinations and reality. What _is _reality anyway?

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><p>"<em>Sometimes a deal with the devil is better than no deal at all."<em>

― _Lawrence Hill, Someone Knows My Name_

**Alex Zervakos, District 4 mentor**

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><p>I'd be willing to do anything to bring her home. Having to sit here and do nothing while my wife fights for her life in the arena is hell. I'd gladly enter the arena again and risk dying if it meant I could protect her and the baby. I reach for the bottle of vodka only to realize it's empty—just like Elia's funds. She's had other gifts, but now when she needed them most things were at their highest and there simply wasn't enough to get her what she needed.<p>

My mind wanders back to our stupid fight before the launch…A moment that was supposed to be happy and joyous ruined by the Games—just like everything. And if I'm not careful, the Games will take Elia and our baby too. If only there was some power, some way that I had that could help her…I would do anything as long as she was safe, as _they_ were safe.

But you can't buy safety in Panem, all you can buy is—

It's like a bright light goes on in my head, like this whole darkness has been illuminated by the idea. Why not? Bodies are always for sale in the Capitol, so why not sleep with someone to ensure her victory? It doesn't even matter who.

I know Elia wouldn't want me to. I know now that she's known all along what I've been forced to do—that she's had to live with knowing that she's sharing me. But it doesn't matter what she thinks, it doesn't even matter if she hates me. I promised her, I would bring them home—my wife and baby.

I stagger from the room and I flag down an avox and scribble a hasty note before sending him off to her. For a few moments, I stand there unsure of what to do with myself before I realize that I'm not presentable for what I'm about to ask.

I hurry to the bathroom and splash my face with cold water, trying to shake off some of the haze of alcohol. I fix my shirt and hair before sitting down to face the door. Now all I can do is wait…

The moments creep by so slowly that I'm almost positive that she's making me sweat it out. It feels like hours, like eternity is passing by as I glance up at the screen to see Elia lying there covered in stings.

Finally though, the note comes, it has only one word on it in the elaborate looping handwriting,

_Come_

The avox almost seems to be moving too slow as he takes me through back passageways to the control room. I'm lead past gamemakers into the elaborate office where she sits, her turquoise eyes looking at me.

My mouth feels dry as I look at her, the woman who's tortured my wife so much this year, "I want to make a deal."

She puts down her mug, I can watch the swirls of heat coming off of I as she smiles, "What makes you think you have anything to offer me?"

I place my hands out, palms up. "I will offer you anything, anything at all to bring Elia home. I offer the Capitol my unyielding loyalty. I will do anything, anything at all without question."

The corners of her lips twitch, "The Capitol doesn't want your loyalty Alex Zervakos." I can feel my heart sinking, the way she looks at me with such cruelty, "But I do."

"You?" I ask hesitantly.

"Me," she sips her tea. "Right now, she's being pushed toward Jules," she pauses to let me process it. "It'll be easy for her to take care of as long as you've trained her well. But then...she'll be facing Aleah Armani. We'll make sure you have all the funds and…distractions in the arena that she'll need to win against Aleah."

"Whatever you want," I repeat. "Hold me to it, I promise. Just give her the best chance…she can win, I know it."

"I will hold you to it, and that little sister of hers too…What was her name? Marit, I believe… It'd be a pity if she was reaped." Her hand slides a slip of paper over to me, "Go there. He's been very eager to meet you."

I swallow hard, and take a look at the address before I reach my hand across the desk and shake Phoenix's hand. "Alright," I say tentatively.

"Perfect, Mr. Zervakos. I'm glad we're on the same page. My driver is waiting outside to take you to the Gianni Manor; have fun."

I touch Elia's wedding band where it hangs from around my neck until I can return it to her. _I'm doing this for you._

* * *

><p><strong>Hours later…<strong>

_There are more dead people than living. And their numbers are increasing. The living are getting rarer._

_Eugene Ionesco, Rhinoceros_

**Elia Zervakos, District 4**

* * *

><p>"Alex you son of a bitch!" I shout, pressing my palms to my ears. "How could you do this?"<p>

He killed my sister. The man I vowed to spend the rest of my life with has murdered Marit. Her lifeless body lies crumpled at his feet, his sword dripping with the crimson blood of my twelve year old sister. Droplets of her blood drip onto her scarlet curls and graying face, permanently contorted into a scream.

Alex's blue eyes sparkle as the wind blows through his messy dark hair. He grins sinisterly as he twirls the bloody sword around in his hand. A blue-and-purple bat flies around Alex's head, then it, Alex, and Marit's body disappears.

_They went poof._

"Elia," a weak voice from behind me groans. "El-ee-a."

I whip around quickly to see the bloodied form of my sister. She appears to be alive- just barely. But wasn't she dead? She is dragging her little body across the ground, arm stretched out in hopes of reaching me, her favorite big sister, her protector. Marit groans my name one last time before I see her die a second time. I let her down. I allowed my husband, the man that _I _brought into our family kill her. Marit trusted Alex. We all did. Hell, I'm carrying that monster's baby. Up until I stepped into the arena, I wore a ring signifying our bond in marriage.

He killed her. He. Killed. My. Sister.

"I'm going to kill you, Alex! I'm going to kill you!" I throw a dagger at the cave wall in anger.

Suddenly, I feel a bump on the side of my head. "A parachute," I mouth. I unwrap the parachute to reveal the sponsor gift inside it. Some kind of green leafy plant-type-thing. There is a note attached to the parachute reading:

_Chew it, spit it out and rub it on your stings. P.S. I love you. –A_

A…who can A b-

My jaw drops. Alex. But…he was here! He killed Marit, my sister. How could be send me a sponsor gift? Unless…

Stings. I vaguely remember the buzzing, being stung over-and-over. Am I dead? Am I hallucinating right now? Or was Marit's murder the hallucination? I don't even know anymore. What harm can following the directions on the note do, anyway? If it's a hallucination, nothing will happen. If it's reality, I'll be aided.

_Rip, chew, chew, spit, rub. Rip, chew, chew, spit, rub. Rip, chew, spit, rub._

The feeling of the saliva-soaked wad touching my tracker jacker stings brought relief. It's not the saliva, but the feeling of whatever's in the plant reacting with the venom. The plant must have been made by the Capitol- or at the very least; this particular sample had to have been genetically strengthened for it to work this quickly.

Though my mind is still hazy, I can at least gather my thoughts. I close my eyes and say, "Alex loves me and he would never hurt my sister. Alex loves me and he would never hurt my sister," over and over and over until I can gather the strength to get up off of my knees.

I don't know how much times passes as I stumble along. The walls press in closer to me, pushing me—driving me toward something—no, someone. Will it be Claus? Aleah? Jules?

I feel stronger as I stand there, more alert and more myself. My heart thuds loudly as the room opens up and seem to be almost sealed in. I glance around, the light still reflecting slightly shiny at times when out of the corner of my eye, I see a figure move. I tentatively approach the figure, trident held out in front of me, prepared to fight.

"Hey, Elia," she mutters weakly. "Long time no see." I look at her with regret. I don't want to kill Jules, my one-time ally, the girl that I could have killed early on in the Games, but whom I let go. Such irony. The girl I spared is the girl that I now have to kill. She's on the other side of the room, a knife clutched in her hand ineptly. I spared her because I couldn't bear to kill her earlier, even though it would be easy to do…it'll still be easy to do if you don't think about that we could have been friends.

Jules doesn't want to kill me any more than I want to kill her, but I can't let her get in the way of me going home and having my baby. My beautiful, innocent baby girl. My brow furrows together and my grip on the silver trident becomes stronger.

I run toward Jules Surket, prepared to fight and I'm surprised to see her rushing to meet me. She's hesitant as she gets closer, pausing yards away, but I close the space quickly. Jules tries backing away to avoid the three-pronged weapon before I even begin to attack. She looks away from me for only a moment as if she could find somewhere to run. I take the opportunity to disarm her. The small knife slides across the floor as she falls backwards on to the ground, crawling away from me as I face her down.

This is it. I don't want to do this…I don't want to kill her, she was with me in the beginning. She was kind…she was—no, she's my enemy. She's only something keeping me from coming home, I have to finish her off. I pull back the trident and jab hard into her stomach.

But the prongs connect with nothing, as I feel a sharp pain in my thigh. I look down and see Jules's hand over a syringe in my thigh. Her eyes are glittering like the jewels from that mutt days ago when she presses down on the plunger. I stumble back, the syringe still caught in my thigh. The hallucinations come back ten times worse than before, but for a while, they mean nothing. I just stare straight at Jules as she's replaced with the image of my husband, holding a little redheaded infant in a green dress. Alex grins the most sinister grin I've ever seen as he runs his fingers across the baby's body.

Alex pulls out a dagger and holds it dangerously close to our baby. I fall to my knees, clutch my enlarged thigh, and let out a bloodcurdling scream. I hold my other hand out in front of me and scream at him, "No, Alex! Please!" I sob harder than I ever have before and curl up into a ball. "Don't hurt our baby," I whisper as I begin to rock. "Please, Alex."

I cry and scream, and plead with him not to kill our baby, but all the while the dagger is brought closer and closer to our baby's neck. I scream at my husband, I beg him not to murder the little girl he wanted to badly as my face begins to swell, as my throat begins to close.

My pleas are to no avail, it feels like hours though the last vestiges of my sanity tell me it could only be seconds. The last thing I see before slipping out of consciousness is the ruby river trickling down our daughter's limp body.

* * *

><p>...And now there are two.<p>

Remember, ANYTHING can happen in the games.


	67. Necessary Evils

**So here it is ladies and gentlemen-the FINAL two! We've waited six long months for this, and only five people know who's going to win for sure. This is it-it's all coming down to _this._**

**So just a short note before you try to guess who it is and stuff. This chapter is by Jules, the next chapter is by Aleah. Neither of these are the final chapter. These are both chapters leading up to them seeing each other. Each chapter ends with them realizing and finding their final opponent. **

**On the 14th is the final showdown-but...is it from the perspective of the winner...or the loser? The 16th will be a glance at the "aftermath" of the games and _Bring Them to Their Knees _will start with it's first chapter on the 19th.**

* * *

><p><strong>Jules Surket, District 3<strong>_  
><em>

**By Fritz as Pritz**

* * *

><p><em>"Think of the solution, not the problem."<em>

—Wizard's First Rule, _Terry Goodkind_

* * *

><p>I am going to die. Big deal. Everyone is going to die at one point. Some will die in their sleep; others will die a slow and painful death. But it is a hell of a lot different when you are staring at your death as it welcomes you with open arms. I try backing away, hoping with every ounce of my being that I can escape from the death by this silver trident.<p>

I look up at Elia as she prepares to kill me. She was my ally once, even if it was only for a few days. She was someone I was willing to trust with my life. Now she is taking it. Irony really likes me, it seems. I look away from her, unable to handle seeing when my death comes upon me.

Then, I see something. Her leg is within my reach. No, it's closer than that. She doesn't look at my hands. I snatch the syringe of venom and stab her thigh. My thumb presses down on the plunger and I hear her respond with a gasp.

My death falls from her hands as she stumbles back. My syringe is still caught in her leg as her eyes jump from it to me. Her eyes are wide and mouth is slightly agape. She looks straight at me for the longest time, and then releases the loudest bloodcurdling cry I have ever heard.

She falls to her knees, clenching her thigh as it expands twice its natural size. My voice catches in my throat as tears escape her eyes with such a ferocity that it terrifies me. I step away from her and her wide, crazed eyes lock onto me. They somehow manage to get larger as she puts her hand out in front of her as if to protect herself.

"No, Alex! _Please!"_ She sobs harder and curls into a ball. "Don't hurt our baby," she whispers as she begins to rock. "_Please_, Alex..."

I remember Moss, begging me to kill him. I see his face flash before me as Elia begs to her husband to save their child; the child I inadvertently murdered with the mother. I thought my second kill would be easier to deal with than the first. I expected it. But it's not. It's worse. I cover my ears with my palms and close my eyes. I don't want to hear her scream. It reminds me of Moss's cries as he too was stung by the tracker jackers.

I try to take myself away. I think of my friends when they let me win while wrestling. I imagine my brother's arms are around me, holding me together. My father whispers warm words of encouragement. My mother looks at me as if I was her greatest creation. I remember their love. I cling to it and try to keep it with me as Elia suffers with the visions of her own love. I don't even realize I'm crying until a tear slides in between my clenched lips.

Time passes slowly until it stops all together. The air is silent and I risk opening my eyes. Elia's eyes are open, but she is completely still. One arm protects her stomach and the other grips her injured leg that was now too big for her to even grab.

"...Elia?" I am surprised at how weak my voice sounds. I clear my throat and call to her again. It is completely still until a cannon fires somewhere. She is dead. Kill number two.

I collapse onto the floor, unable to hold myself anymore. This is too much. How can they expect children to deal with killing another? Do they expect them to leave this fucking shit piece of land as if they were still the same before? How can people be so _sick_ as to think this is fun? Do they like watching me tear myself apart? Is there some kind of perverse pleasure in watching someone squirm? I hate the Capitol. I **hate** the Capitol.

I hold myself together with great difficulty as my eyes jump to where Elia lies. Her eyes are still wide open, staring off at nothing in particular. I drag myself toward her and pull her eyelids down.

"I'm sorry," I mutter quietly. I'm not sorry I killed her, but rather that she had to die. Seconds later, a small hole comes through the ceiling to pull her body out.

With the newfound light, I test my ankle to make sure that it is okay before forcing myself to my feet and going to where I put my bag. Now is not the time to wallow in my emotions. I'll have enough time to do that later, after my fate is decided.

There are only two left: myself and either Claus or Aleah. It's probably Aleah since Claus is hardly a fighter. Well, the real one, anyway. Who knows, though? Maybe he pulled off the same thing as me. I doubt it, though. Something like that happening once is lucky, but twice is against all odds. No, Aleah will most likely be my competitor in the end.

What do I know about Aleah Armani? She's a bitch, and everyone hates her. But there is something else. I think back to her interview when she said something about District Eleven's sister. How did she know that? It wasn't necessarily common knowledge. She had to have done her research. She probably knows more about me than I know about her.

Aleah knows about me. She also knows about Elia. She knows that in a battle between the two of us, there is no way I could have won. She will be preparing for her, most likely. This can only help me within the millisecond in which she recognizes me. What can I do in a millisecond?

First things first. What does she know about me? What is there to know about me? The tracker jackers. The bug around my neck is a dead giveaway for that. I can't use the venom when I face her. It would be the obvious route for me, and I can't do obvious now. I think on it more. I have no interesting secrets. My only friends are boys. I don't have a boyfriend, though there are a few crushes. My mother's miscarriages. She can try to get me that way, I guess. It doesn't affect me as much as she might hope, though. Sure, it is a sore spot, but I think I can deflect anything too serious. She can try jabbing at my clumsiness, but everyone does that. What's left? Nothing. Nothing she can use, anyway.

I take out my things again and examine them. For some bizarre reason, my eyes keep gliding over the remains of a bomb I dissected. There is some gunpowder there as well as the fuse, the explosive material inside, and the shell the bomb was in. I can try blowing her up, but then that would mean risking my own wellbeing. But she doesn't know that. The shell still looks like an impact grenade and if I throw it at her, she'll expect it to explode. Well that's what I'm hoping for anyway. But what good would that do for me?

Reaching into my pocket, I take out the smoke bombs I made earlier. A smoke cover can help me. She will be basically blind. No one would have the upper-hand then. Unless the place is big, in which case, I'm screwed.

My lips purse as I try to think of something else I could do. Then I remember my cousin, Holt. He works at the scrap yard and it is his job to tear out all of the materials that can still be used and throw out whatever isn't. When I was younger, he came to see my brother and claimed he was going to burn down the entire yard. He was going to use a flash bomb to get the Peacekeepers off his back then set it on fire. I still remember watching them slave over the kitchen table as the two tried to find a solution to their problem. It didn't matter much in the end because someone snitched on Holt and he was whipped for it.

A flash bomb could make her blind for at least a good couple seconds, just enough time for me to kill her with my knife. But the circumstances have to be right. She'll try to cover herself if she sees me throw something at her. It has to be when the smoke covers up everything.

I begin working immediately, creating more smoke bombs, some of which with a pull ring for easier detonation. I hope I can get this done in time. After I feel I have enough smoke bombs to cover a mansion in Victor's Village, I move onto the flash bomb. I'm working off of memory of what my family did, and I'm not entirely sure if it even worked for them. They used gunpowder and a lot of other confusing liquids. I don't have any of that. What I do have is a decent sized fuse and I remember they used that once. I don't remember if it worked.

When I finish with the flash bomb, all I have left are the explosives and the shell. There is an idea in my mind, though it is weak and is very dependent on things I have no idea about. It could work if I'm lucky. It could also turn against me very easily. But I have to try. I literally have nothing to lose. I hate that feeling.

I deal with the explosives with gentle hands, even though I know time is of the essence. I put it back inside of the impact bomb and try to recreate it with whatever I have left. I think back to school when we were learning about this and how it was our duty to use such things to protect the Capitol. They should be glad that we don't have this kind of stuff at home.

I feel the ground vibrate again and I know my time is running out. I don't stuff my supplies back into my bag like last time. I put the impact bomb in there with great care and then the smoke and flash bombs. After stuffing a water bottle and the pull ring in there, I figure that should be enough. I don't want everything weighing me down. Besides, I won't need it after this.

Snatching a bag of dried fruit, I force myself to eat. I haven't eaten anything and I know I need my energy, though it is difficult to do anything with the pain of the tracker jacker venom still throbbing. In between bites, I take off the leaves from my wounds and wash myself with a torn piece of fabric.

When the walls begin to move, I am more than inclined to begin walking toward the hole that Elia went through. I have no idea where they are leading me, but I can't wait to see where.

I allow my mind to go where it normally does when I think about my traps. It runs through every possible possibility that could happen. Every terrain within these tunnels, every animal they might throw at us, I deal with in my head. I even imagine that it is Claus instead of Aleah just to make sure I cover all of the bases. I don't want to be caught off guard. I need to be ahead, even if it is only by a nose.

She won't know what I am about to do. She won't know about the bombs. Sure, she may have an idea, but there is no way she can know for sure; not until I actually do it, and by then it will be too late. Even Claus won't know, if it's him. I may have a chance.

But I still prepare myself to see my death again. I know that it is still waiting for me in the corners, lurking and cheer on my opponents. I can almost feel its hands claw at me and scratch at my arms. Death is my friend tonight, whether it is coming for me or for my opponent.

My hands tremble as I turn through the tunnels. My heart pounds and adrenaline jumps through my blood. I need to be ready to do what I must: to kill. That is what I am afraid of. Will I be able to kill Aleah or Claus? After the horrors I just put Elia through, can I deal with having to kill another? I don't know if I can. That scares me almost as much as the actual killing does.

I think of when we were pretending to be pirates. Kane always liked pirates so we made him the captain. We had pretended that a squirrel was attacking our ship so we hunted it down and his neighbor, Harris, stabbed it with a stick five times. Then it died. Kane grabbed him and pushed him away asking him what he was doing. Harris said that they were just playing a game. Then Kane said, and I quote, "_It doesn't matter. You killed it for no good reason, and that's mean._"

This entire time I thought that my friends would be cheering me on, but what if they aren't? Is Kane mad that I killed not one, but two innocent lives? Will he push me away like he did to Harris? Do they hate me? They have to know that this is just a necessary evil to get home, but what if they don't?

I shake my head. I can't think like that. I can't let the stress make my mind go to places it shouldn't. Of course they are cheering for me. They want me back home. But still…

I walk into a large cavern, large enough to encompass all of Betta's land. I'm glad I made more smoke bombs because before, there was no way I could cover this.

Then my eyes go to my opponent, waiting for me at the other end of the cave. I meet the wide eyes of Aleah Armani.

"Ah, damn it."


	68. The Final Arena

__Here is! The final chapter before the showdown! Are you ready?

Most definately not...

Sound off on who it's going to win!

Is it Jules the battered, brilliant, and more emotional? Or is it the fractured, snarky, and not-as-strong-as-we-thought Aleah?

* * *

><p><strong>Aleah Armani of District 10<strong>

**written by cottoncandychocshop**

_"There are only two places in this league: first place and no place."_

_-Tom Seaver_

* * *

><p>Let me tell you right now, whoever decided that the best and most appropriate way to alert tributes to the death of one of their fellow tributes was by firing a goddamn <em>cannon<em>, was some sadistic bastard who had obviously never experienced any kind of body paralyzing fear. For those of you who don't quite understand to what I am referring, I'll paint a picture for you.

So here I am, minding my own business, casually strolling down along another completely bland and completely generic tunnel attempting to just keep two feet heading in one direction. Oh and then of course there's the completely paralysing claustrophobia beating down on me, the feeling of there being absolutely no oxygen in the air, that the walls are shrinking in around me and that any minute the entirety of this labyrinth could crumble under the earth and I could be buried in fifty thousand tonnes of rock. Not to mention the pounding of my heart in my ears, the quivering and shaking in my hands and legs and the horrible sense of nausea making me quite concerned about losing my lunch. If all those ridiculously paranoid and anxious symptoms hadn't been enough, there was also the slight burning in my shoulder from where those rabies infested rodents had clawed at my skin and a nagging pain in my hands from cuts and bruises not since healed after a slightly one sided assault involving a wall. I may not have looked like it to anyone who had been watching via a television screen, but I was a freaking mess.

Then all of a sudden, a colossal 'boom' thunders down the tunnel and my immediate reaction is to scream blood murder and dive down onto the floor, my hands raised protectively over my head. In all honesty, the word that came immediately to my brain was 'earthquake' and the very thought of it was terrifying enough to leave me a complete paralytic on the floor. Despite how pathetically weak I knew I looked, and how bloody irrational all of this was I could not for the life of me get myself to move one inch. It was only after lying on that stone ground for a good five minutes, the coolness and perfect steadiness of the rock being the only things I could tether myself to, and forcing myself to breathe at a slightly healthier rate that I realised I was in no ways caved in, nor had anything fallen on me and crushed me in any way. From within the panic of my mind came one little sliver of rationality, and mercifully I recognised what the sound had been and what it had meant.

A cannon had sounded. Another tribute was dead.

So the knocked-up, ginger teen-bride from four and the mysterious, insect loving twig from three must have had it out. I'll admit I'm rather relieved at how little I needed to do to shift this game from four tributes to two. I mean I didn't even kill Claus, the carnivorous rodents took care of that for me, and yet within mere hours another tribute had kicked the bucket along with him. The only little, tiny, _miniscule_issue that it presented for me...was that I had no freaking clue which one I was going to be going up against. I guess on the other hand neither did my mystery opponent, which I guess had to be a plus, but for someone who had used her knowledge to keep her alive for the majority of the games, it was a teeny bit unnerving to suddenly be thrown into the deep end here.

Look if I'm going to be honest with you I could evaluate the two objectively and decide who it is I think would have won in the standoff between Elia and Jules, but in all honesty how many people would have thought I would have beaten Claus? Looking at the two of them on paper, I would have to say that, hands down, Elia would have beaten that little pixie to a pulp. I mean just looking at them physically anyone would put their money on Elia, she's not only taller, stronger and older than Jules but she also looks considerably more threatening, you know despite the maternal glow and whatnot. Then of course there's the fact that Elia had been training for god knows how long, and that she had a previous victor for a husband who must have given her a significant edge in her training. And on top of all that the bitch is pregnant, and despite her best attempts to hide the longing and tender glances she repeatedly gives her stomach, it was obvious she would be pretty damn desperate to save not just herself, but her pure blooded victor foetus as well. So of course I am expecting to be meeting up with Elia in the near future.

Despite all that, there was still this nagging feeling in my brain about Jules. I mean the issue for me with that androgynous, tracker jacker loving freak from three was that I had very little knowledge of how the hell she had made it this far, and I'll admit that made me a little bit anxious. Seriously, how has she managed to slip completely under everyone's radars, including mine. She's obviously intelligent, anyone who had seen how damn intricate that trap she set for us has been would have to back me up on that one, but being smart simply isn't enough to survive on. I had focused on taking out the strongest people in these games, and now I was seeing for the first time that perhaps by attacking those who were _physically_ the strongest I may have overlooked some of the people who were the real threats. Jules obviously knew what she was doing, she wouldn't have been able to go this long without some sort of strategy or planning, and I had overlooked that because she was so much physically weaker than everyone else. Ironic isn't it, that I had done to Jules exactly what I had tricked other people into doing to me? Karma's a bitch I suppose.

So yeah, these were the debates flicking back over my brain over and over again as I twisted and turned my way through the maze of tunnels around me. Elia. Jules. Elia. Jules. Who could win? Who should win? Who _did_ win? In the end I decide that it would have had to depend on the circumstance as to which one of them prevailed victorious in that fight. I mean if it had been nothing more than a knife fight, I'd have to be prepared to fight Elia, but if it had been something more strategic, something more sinister and well thought out, then it was Jules I was going to be facing. It was really just a freaking coin toss. Don't you love it when things work out that way?

Right now, anxiety over who it is I am going to have to fight in the finale is really only one more worry to add to my seriously overly panicked mind. The longer I stay trapped down beneath god knows how many tonnes of rock and earth, the more my desperation to get the hell out of here increases. I have to force myself to keep taking steps, to keep walking, to keep _breathing_. You would be surprised just how freaking hard it has become to force myself to inhale oxygen, don't take it for granted because take it from me once you start to lose it you appreciate just how easy it had been before. I find myself breathing at a ridiculous rate, short raspy intakes of breath that do nothing to help calm me. My mouth is incredibly dry and my heart rate has in no way slowed since the whole 'walls literally closing in on me' thing. I'm on the verge of almost hoping for some more of those mutant rats to emerge out of nowhere, just so that I have something to take my mind off of the fact that I am trapped in a very small space and could be down here for some inhumane period of time. Then something hits me, something that I hadn't really ever thought about before.

I'm in the final two. I can actually win this thing.

Don't get me wrong, I believed I could do this from the word go, had always thought I had just as good a chance as any of being the one to make it out of here alive, it was just that it had always seemed so far away to me that I hadn't really embraced the prospect of being the victor. Yet now here I am, one of the last two tributes left alive, despite all the odds against me, and there was a legitimate possibility that by next week I could be back in district ten. Truthfully that doesn't seem like such a great prospect, in fact it's actually a rather droll one, but just thinking about actually making it home to Sean brought a surprisingly genuine smile to my face. I had promised him hadn't I, that I'd get back to him, and now I was one step away from fulfilling that promise.

I can't help but wonder at what he'll think of me, of what any of those half-witted cattle farmers from ten will think of me. I can't imagine that I'm all that popular with everyone back home, the fact that silver parachutes have just been _raining_ down on me is probably reflective of that, but seriously do you think I give two shits about what the people of district ten think of me. I've _never_ cared about their condemnation, I mean the majority of them have hated and feared me ever since I was eleven years old, and I imagine that nothing I've said of done over the course of the games would have improved that opinion of me at all.

But Sean, what would he think? He's so different to me in so many ways, he'd never have been able to do the things that I've done simply because he's far too intrinsically good. For every trait that I have that makes me the dubious human being I am he has one completely opposite to reflect his kindness. His moral compass has never once swayed off due north and he has always had such an annoyingly strong view of what is right and what is wrong, even if he was always slightly lenient towards me. Would he even be able to look at me if I came back? Or, would he be so overjoyed that his twin sister had come back from what was presumably certain death that he couldn't have cared less what she had done to survive? Or, like everyone else would he think my actions atrocious, merciless and unforgivable and never be able to look at me again? I can live with what I've had to do to survive, I did what I had to do and I will continue doing it even if other people would think it unfathomable. But to know that I had fought so hard, fought to the brink of death and had emerged victorious, only to discover that my twin brother hated me for everything I had become, that would be unbearable. I'd lived pretty much my whole life without the slightest of a care from my parents, or even the smallest hint at any affection. But I had always relied on the fact that Sean was the one person in the world who cared whether or not I lived or died, the one person who would want to fight for me. Would losing that be worth winning?

I force those ridiculous thoughts out of my head before giving them any serious thought. Shut the hell up Aleah, of course it would be worth winning. _Anything_ would be worth it, anything is worth surviving through if it means I'm still alive. I have not fought this freaking hard to fall at the final hurdle, I simply can_not_ finish second. There's no second prize in these games, everyone knows that. No matter who it is that I have to face whenever the gamemakers decide they want us to have our epic showdown, I have to be the one who walks out of it. There just isn't another alternative. And that's when something else hits me. No, not metaphorically hits me, something _literally_hits me, slamming into me from the side and pushing me further and further towards an approaching rock.

It takes me a few seconds to realise that it's another wall pushing me, and with every inch it pushes me I am getting closer and closer to being turned into a human sandwich between this rock and the one it's pushing me towards. I quickly dart out sideways down one of the tunnels perpendicular to this one, but before even getting one freaking second to catch my breath after being nearly pulverised, another wall begins moving from behind me, sticking on my tail much closer than I appreciate as I run as fast as my legs physically take me.

It's a repeated process this, I would run duck and dodge my way out of the path of one of those goddamn death traps when another would suddenly awaken from its supposedly frozen position on the wall and chase after me. Obviously these bastards want me to go somewhere, but do they have to be so melodramatic about my means of transportation? Did it never occur to them that a map could be useful? You know, maybe sending me down a little instruction manual telling me where to go what to bring. After all I am their guest aren't I; couldn't they show me some Capitol courtesy? I can imagine what the little invitation would look like, probably written on scented paper with some pink lace around the edges or something and printed in huge, loopy font it would say something along the lines of, 'You have been requested to report to the thirteenth tunnel in the west wing at 0800 hours. We would be ever so delighted if you were to be prompt in arriving, as other guests will be waiting for you there ready to kill you. Make sure you are appropriately dressed and all the appropriate accessories are on your person, including something sharp with which to decapitate an opponent. Failure to arrive at your destination within half an hour of the desired time of arrival will result in something ugly, furry and with very sharp teeth coming to make our sentiments known to you. Yours respectfully, the Gamemakers xoxo.' What? You don't think that's a realistic prospect? Well I guess a girl can dream can't she?

After what seems like an eternity of running millimetres in front of moving rocks I am finally pushed out into a slightly larger tunnel, and while I wait to see in which direction the next wall will begin chasing me from I realise that that familiar, albeit terrifying, sound of rock grinding against rock that normally accompanies those lovely, murderous walls of stone is mercifully absent right now. I lean against the side of the tunnel, doubled over as I gasp for breath after running so hard for so long but after I've regained a miniscule amount of energy and can afford to stand up straight again I realise that another sound has replaced that of the moving rock. Hissing.

I turn around and look down the tunnel, my eyes straining in the darkness to make out some kind of silhouette from within the blackness but I can't see anything. There was definitely something there though; I can hear not only the hissing noises but the sound of movement as small pebbles rattle against the floor. After a few moments I can make out the edges of a huge figure slowing gaining in size the closer it gets to me.

"That better not be what I think it is," I murmur through close teeth as I watch the slithering beast moving towards me.

Unfortunately, it is exactly what I thought it was. Once it is within about fifteen metres from me I can make out the shape of some ridiculously large serpentine creature coming towards me at a steady pace. The aberrant creature had to be at least half my height and as wide as me, its huge head pretty much the size of my torso. It has huge black eyes, its pupils abnormally large, probably manufactured so that the horrid thing could have _perfect_ vision in this low light while I'm still squinting just to make it out. Its scales are a really horrendous colour, something in between vomit green and dirt brown, and I can see two of its ludicrously large fangs protruding out of its mouth. I almost want to laugh at how unfair this matchup is: everything about the snake is designed specifically to live and hunt down in this environment, and me, yeah this place and I are in no way coherent. So I do what anyone would do in my position, do a complete one eighty and begin high tailing it in the complete opposite direction to the snake.

You know, in a rational and fair world, a thousand pound snake would have a pretty hard time getting its outrageously large bulk to move more than one inch in a minute. But that's only in the natural world. In the world of the Gamemakers, thousand pound serpents can move at incredibly fast speeds, speeds that fifty kilo sixteen year old humans can barely reach. Somehow, in a way that defies every law of nature, that goddamn snake is gaining on me, inch by inch, second by second I'm losing ground, and the beast looks in no way like it's getting tired or it's going to lose my tail as I dart in and out of the tunnels around me. How the hell this snake can possibly move at this pace is completely unfathomable. Physics died today people, physics died.

"I had to think it," I chastise myself, cursing as I run, "I had to wish that something would distract me. Great job Aleah, marvellous work."

Before too long I can practically feel the heaving breaths of the giant serpent against the back of my skin, and I know I'm not going to be able to keep running from it. I'm going to have to fight the perfectly predatorial mutt. Brilliant. Freaking fantastic.

I turn on my heels and immediately swipe one of my knives across the open jaw of the mutt, darting out of the way milliseconds before its open mouth would have engulfed me. The snake lets out a vile hiss and begins striking at me, its fangs mercifully meeting nothing but air as I manage to avoid getting bitten. Out of nowhere its huge tail uncoils from behind it and whips out around from behind and slams into me, sending me flying through the air and crashing with a 'oomph' onto the ground. There were several other profanities murmured as well but I'll spare you're innocent ears the trauma of hearing them. My limbs groan in protest as I immediately leap back onto my feet, but I don't have time to screw around because the serpent once again only misses my flesh by a freaking mouse's whisker.

I turn back around, my blades braced in my hands as my brain works at a mile a minute to try and think of some possible way to take down this thing...and comes up with nothing. If I tried going for its eyes it would probably sink its teeth into me, if I went for its underbelly it would have the opportunity to wrap its tail around me and strangle me and there was no way of going for its heart without being eaten whole. Let's face it, the bloody mutt was genetically engineered to be practically invincible, I had no choice in my crappy genetics. So yeah, not many options left for me.

The snake lurches towards me, its fangs bared and I'm not quick enough, it's teeth briefly piercing the flesh on my upper right arm. I let out a small yelp as the fang meets with my soft flesh, and silently pray that this goddamn beast isn't venomous, but realise that I now have an opening. I thrust my knee into the bottom of the snake's enormous jaw, and as the serpent angles its head upwards I use my left hand to drive my other knife down into its right eye.

As the snake writhes in pain, I ignore the throbbing in my arm and use the uneven surface of the rock around me as footholds to manoeuvre up the wall before launching myself off the wall and throw my arms around the snakes neck, hoisting myself, rather ungracefully if you wanted to know, onto the head of the hissing mutt, my legs straddling on top of its head. I don't waist a single second plunging my knife down into the weak area at the top of the mutts' skull, causing thick black mutt blood to erupt out of the wound and all over me as the beast twists and writhes in agony before crashing onto the floor, causing me to fall off and roll across the rock.

I groan as I push myself up off the floor and begin to wipe the putrid smelling blood of my face and out of my eyes, before walking over to the deceased mutt. In death it still looks just as terrifying as it had in life and I have to take a step back as I look at all the features of it that made it seem so impossibly horrific. It would have taken something truly terrifying to kill something this abhorrent. As I take in what little of me I can see, the long dark hair thick and matted with coal black blood, my clothes covered in dirt and now considerably tattered, my pale white skin now a patchwork of blood, bruises, scrapes, cuts and dirt, I imagine I do look completely terrifying. At least now, after watching that, people would be able to justify being afraid of me, even _I_ would be afraid of me looking the way I do now, like some wild, merciless killer. I know that I'm not like that, I know I'm not as horrid, bloodthirsty and cruel as everyone wants to believe I am, but I'll admit looking like this I can see why they'd think it. I guess these games really do bring the best out of people hey? But I can't let myself think about it, think about any of it, I just need to survive for a little longer. I look up at the ceiling and groan.

"Snakes," I incredulously ask the Gamemakers, "Being trapped underground, stung by tracker jackers, walls closing in on me and giant mutant rats weren't enough, you needed to send down a snake as well?"

As if in response an opening appears in one of the wall next to me, and an ominous light glows out from this mystery location. Creepy, I know. Unfortunately this leaves me with somewhat of a moral dilemma. I know what would be waiting for me in there: there's only one thing that could be. It's obvious they had driven me here for a reason, and there's only reason left, to force me to faceoff with my remaining opponent. To have one final showdown, the fight to end all fights. Whatever, and whoever, was waiting for me in that room was going to have to be something pretty huge, after learning everything I have about the ridiculous amounts of drama these Gamemakers were into, I know they're going to have planned one hell of a finale. So my dilemma: do I go in? My other option is to very politely say, 'screw you bastards,' and walk away from the door, but I'd be willing to bet if I did so I would very quickly have some kind of interaction with that lovely snakes' mother or something, maybe I'd get to see my lovely rat friends again or perhaps, if I'm especially lucky, some other warped species that I was yet to be introduced to. One way or another, the Gamemakers were going to get me into whatever lay behind that opening, so I might as well go in now and scope out the place.

But one final doubt presses against the back of my brain. Either Jules or Elia will be in there waiting for me when I walk through into whatever's back there. Will I be able to face them? Will I be able to do it, to make that one final kill? The thought bothers me more than I want it to, much more than I had anticipated. What if it was Elia, married, _pregnant_ Elia that I'm going to have to murder? Can I kill something as innocent as an unborn baby? What if it was Jules, whose family probably want her back considerably more than mine do? Will I be able to kill her?

I quickly bury my doubts behind the walls I had constructed in my mind all those many years ago. I can't begin playing with 'will I's' and 'can I's' now, not now of all times. It doesn't matter whether I should, whether I could and whether I would. I _have_ to. I promised Sean I'd get back, I promised _myself_ I would not die down in this hellhole. I've fought so hard, so hard that after everything I find myself physically and mentally exhausted, and I have to do this. I have to be the victor, or it was all for nothing. So with my head held high, my mind clear and my heart buried I walk through the opening into the wall and out into the open.

The cavern that they've pushed me into is, for lack of a better and more appropriate word, gigantic. The ceiling could have been kilometres high and I wouldn't know it because I'm nowhere near seeing it, it's that high up. Embedded into all the rock around me are scattered gems in a striking array of colours, reds, blues, greens, yellows, all reflecting the miniscule amounts of light around me and glistening and glimmering in the darkness. It's then that I look across the cavern and to the other side and notice something else that I should have noticed straight off. From where I am, there is only about a five metre wide stretch of stone between here and the opposite side of the cavern. Left and right of the path there is simply nothing, the stone floor of the path meeting a perfectly vertical drop into a giant abyss. I nervously look out over the edge of the floor, trying to see the bottom of the drop but the chasm just goes on for what seems like an eternity. I grab a rather large stone and haul it off the side into the nothingness, waiting for the sound of it crashing on the bottom. And I wait... And wait... And wait... And nothing. After standing there for a good minute and a half I still don't hear the rock hit the bottom, and I immediately start to feel a little vertigo and retreat back to a safe distance away from the cliff. So I'm standing in a giant cavern, with gem encrusted walls and mere metres away from falling off into a bottomless pit. I warned you this was going to be melodramatic, didn't I?

"Went a little overboard don't you think," I ask, not really addressing anyone in particular, just trying to appreciate the magnitude of this stage they've set for me.

The Gamemakers may not be able to say anything, but that doesn't mean they can't reply. Because within seconds of the words coming out of the mouth I hear something that I am in no ways prepared for: another voice.

"Ah, damn it."


	69. Surviving

**Seven LONG months, we've gotten to know these tributes. We've learned about them until we have felt the heartache of each of them dying-not just some nameless tribute or foe for a heroine, they're all real because we took the chance to get to know them.**

**All that's left is the ending. The only question left to ask is : "Is it from the point of view of the winner or the loser?"**

**The final chapter-the aftermath of the games, will be posted Saturday.**

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><p><strong>Aleah Armani, District 10<strong>_  
><em>

**By cottoncandychoctop**

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><p><em>"The Finals are about a test of wills."<em>

—Bill Laimbeer

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><p>I don't quite know what to think exactly when I turn around and see that slight, albeit androgynous looking nerd from three standing at the opposite end of the cavern from me. My mind begins to work at a mile a minute as I start to assess different possibilities, and unfortunately my ridiculously overly analytical brain begins to become increasingly polarized, and I can almost imagine two little Aleahs standing on my shoulders and annoyingly whispering opposite viewpoints into my ears. Excuse the cliché, but it's the best analogy I've got for you.<p>

One of them is cheering, absolutely enthralled that somehow, due to some absolute miracle, this little freak managed to take out the last real Career in the games. Anyone and everyone would have to agree with the fact that if I could turn this into nothing but a fist fight, Jules would be a million times easier to take out than Elia would have been. Seriously, the little pixie would barely have reached Elia's shoulders, and I imagine she'd strain a muscle if she attempted to use those pathetic excuses for biceps to wield a trident with a tenth of Elia's skill.

But the other half of my brain knew that there had to be a reason Jules had beaten Elia. As much as I would have liked it to have been a random stroke of luck, I know that's not what had happened. As much as I hated to admit it, Jules was still alive for a reason, because unlike most of those half-witted idiots that we'd been thrown in here with, she knows what she's doing.

Both of us came into this game with some kind of strategy, and while mine had been slightly more, shall we say, ostentatious and arguably more dramatic, her plans had been just as well thought-out. I mean, the whole venom thing...I'll give it to her, it was terribly brilliant and at the same time shrewdly cunning. That had to have had a shit-load of planning time put into it because that is not the kind of thing that simply pops into one's head as one is casually strolling down a park or something. It was in no way more of a stroke of chance that Jules Surket had managed to earn herself a place in the final two than it was that I had.

And my biggest mistake, throughout these entire games, was that I had underestimated her like a conceited idiot. And believe me, I plan to never allow myself to make that mistake again. She'll have something up her sleeve, something planned; she wouldn't have come in here unprepared, knowing that whether it was Claus or myself, we would both have a significant physical advantage over her. My only issue is I have absolutely no idea what she could be planning, which I hate more than anything. I can't make any kind of plan of attack of my own until I have at least some basic knowledge of what she has in store for me.

So I do what I do best: stall.

"I'll admit it, I wasn't expecting to see you here, Three," I say condescendingly, my knives subtly tightening in my grasp, "But at the same time, I'm kinda glad."

"Yeah, well, I wish I could return the sentiment, but I'm not all too happy that it's _you_ here, Aleah," Jules replies, her voice a really awkward tone that results from what I assume is attempted composure mixed with legitimate fear. She's obviously wary of me. Smart girl.

I give an amused laugh as I begin to slowly cross the bridge of rock from my side of the cavern towards hers, placing each tentative step carefully so as to make sure I stay in the dead centre of the passage. As entertaining as it would be for the Capitol audiences if I slipped and simply fell to my death over an immeasurably large cliff without Jules needing to lift a finger, I didn't really feel like finding out just how far that drop was by experiencing it myself. Call me anti-curious, if you will.

"What?" I ask with mock hurt, "You would have preferred to have had to face off with Claus' severely psychotic alter-ego rather than me? Surely I'm not quite as bad as him...or at least only equally as bad?"

"Debatable," she says with a small tilt of her head as she begins to walk toward me at the same cautious pace as me. "Perhaps we'll have to arrange a vote on it: which tribute is more psychotic and morally inept?"

I subconsciously notice that there is the slightest strangeness in her gait, in the way she's moving. She's limping, not very badly but enough that I can notice it. It's bleatingly obvious she's trying to hide it, or at least attempting to shift her weight in a way that will put the least amount of pressure on her ankle. Well at least I know one point of weakness I can use against her, besides the obvious lack of strength which was always a given.

"It would be a close call," I respond, not missing a beat with my condescending retort, "Mind you, we could toss in a few late entries in there. Boston should definitely get an honourable mention, and Roy could definitely be a dark horse. Don't let me keep all the glory."

This time she doesn't answer, but I do notice that her hands have ever so slightly inched backwards and the tips of her chubby little fingers are now hidden behind the fabric of the pack on her back. Quite obviously she's fishing around for something in there and is trying not to draw my attention to it, and failing. While I do notice that she's got something hidden back there, I can't make out what it is so I continue trying to keep her distracted while I try and figure out what it is.

"Am I allowed to ask how exactly you managed to dispose of the ginger teen bride?" I query, my eyes glued solely on Jules arms that were very unsubtly hidden behind her back. Damn, if only she'd turn a few degrees to the right I'd be able see what on earth it is that puny little geek is so bloody eager to keep hidden from me.

"You can ask," Jules says back, the two of us within ten metres of each other now, "But that doesn't mean I have to give you an answer. Are you going to tell me how you killed Claus?"

"Funny story, that," I say as I come to a halt, bracing myself. I know I'm going to have to be the one to make the first move; I need to change something here so that everything doesn't simply work exactly into Jules' ludicrously tiny hands. "I didn't actually kill Claus, some well-placed rodents took care of that for me."

That seems to catch her a little off-guard. I guess in that formulaic mind of hers, she must have decided that I had personally ripped Claus to shreds and feasted on his flesh. Look, I get that the rumours regarding my brutality have been severely over-exaggerated, but surely people don't think I'm that horrific. Please, I'm hardly the soul of all evil, why should it be so surprising that some genetically engineered, rabies-infested vermin took out Claus rather than me?

Despite the fact that I've stopped moving towards her, Jules continues to, or attempts to, subtly inch towards me, only very slowly placing one foot slightly ahead of the other. She needs me closer to her, whatever it is that she's so desperately trying to hide from me is something she needs me to be within range for. She's expecting to inch closer towards me without me noticing and then unleash whatever horror it is she's got planned once she's within distance.

So once again, I'm infuriatingly left with two very different options. I can A) Do the smart thing and begin retreating backwards out of her range, so that whatever she's got planned won't be able to do me any kind of damage. The issue with that is that I am literally locked inside this cavern and there is only so far I can run. Eventually, I'm going to run out of space to back into and one way or the other she'll be able to get me right where she wants me.

So, that leaves me with only the other option. The much stupider, much more risky and considerably bolder move: B) charge head-on into the fray so that I get too close to her, disarm her from whatever she's got, and remove the threat once and for all. Is it risky? Hell yeah. Is it potentially suicidal? Possibly and probably.

But am I not Aleah Armani? And is Aleah Armani the kind of person who retreats, who backs away from a fight? You know what they say, the best defense is a good offense, that has been my approach throughout the entire games, and it hasn't let me down so far, has it? Say what you will about my methods, but they work, and I am not going to go soft the one moment that I am inches away from getting the hell out of this place.

I will survive this. I have to. So I let everything else around me fall into inconsequence, I shut off everything other instinct that would hold me back and focus my mind, my body, and my soul on the only word in the English language that has any meaning to me anymore.

Survive.

I lurch forward, moving as fast as my legs can physically take me, charging head-on at Jules with my knives braced out in front of me. I've covered two-thirds of the distance before Jules even has time to react to my full-on attack. Obviously, she had in no way anticipated this kind of assault completely out-of-the-blue, but just before I'm within striking range, she flings her hands out from behind her back, something black and spherical in her palms.

I can't immediately tell what it is, but I know if it's anything of Jules', it can't be any good for me. Before she has the chance to launch the object at me I slide out forward, my right leg outstretched, and I swing it around in a quick circle, using all the force and momentum I have to drive it into the side of Jules' weak ankle. The impact is obviously strong enough to do some serious damage because Jules immediately yelps in pain as her already weakened ankle completely gives way from under her and she comes crashing onto the ground next to me, the mystery object in her hand rolling out across the rock in front of me as she hits the ground. It's only then, as I watch that strange, presumably deadly, object roll across the floor, its fuse lit and pin removed, that I realise what it is.

A bomb.

Oh for the _love_ of...

Ignoring the decrepit Jules for the moment, I quickly dive across the width of the rock bridge, quickly securing the unstable explosive in my hands, its fuse shortening at a ridiculously fast pace. I immediately get back on my feet and, using every inch of my significantly pathetic arm muscle, throw the bomb as far out off the cliff and into the expanse as possible. Within milliseconds of me launching the explosive away from me, I watch it explode in a blinding flash of crazy white light, and I immediately avert my gaze to make sure that I don't legitimately get blinded. Once the slight haziness of my vision wares off, I remember just how close I'm standing to the edge of this cliff and instinctively take a quick step back away from it before beginning to turn back around to my opponent.

"Got a plan B?" I ask snidely as I turn, but immediately regret my words as my eyes meet Jules' and I see a terribly familiar looking black spherical object in her hands.

"Well, actually..." she says ominously as she pulls the pin out of the fuse of her second bomb, her eyes not exactly meeting mine.

Oh fuck.

I immediately begin running as far from her as I can in the miniscule amount of time I know I have before that bomb goes off, whilst at the same time making sure to give myself a fair berth from the cliff faces. I dive forward, my hands over my head, and feel myself crash against the stone beneath me at the ungodly, deafening sound of a 'boom' from behind me, before my prone form on the ground is thrown even further forwards, rock fragments launching into my flesh. I feel a sharp pain in my hip from where I've landed particularly hard on a protruding rock from the ground, but the sound of something considerably worse than any pain begins to force myself to try and numb the aguish. Crumbling.

I tilt my head onto its side as I lie in absolute agony on the floor, every inch of me feeling battered and bruised as a result of being tossed five metres through the air and landing onto solid rock. Can you blame me; believe it or not, falling onto sharp stones...Not fun. Not fun at all. But despite the small trickle of blood flowing down my forehead and obscuring my vision, out of the corner of my eye I begin to see the pieces of the floor around me crumbling, chunks of stone the size of giant boulders falling off their previously stable position into the abyss below. The rock on which I am currently lying prone begins to tilt ever so slightly downwards as the foundations of this part of the bridge below had just been blown to freaking smithereens and now the whole bloody thing's coming down.

For a few anguished seconds, the pain in my battered body is too great, and no matter how ardently my mind screams at my body to get the hell up off this freaking rock that's about to fall into nothingness, the agony in my body is simply far too great for me to move. Until that one word forces me into action again.

Survive.

Using every strained inch of my being, despite the extremely well-deserved and well-constructed protests coming from every single muscle in my body, I manage to push myself up onto my feet and begin to quickly gather my surroundings. The section of bridge behind me, the part closest to solid freaking ground, has already completely lost its foundations, a huge gap of over ten metres making it impossible for me to retreat backwards. The path in front of me is also falling away into the abyss at an insane rate, gravity obviously working a little overboard here, so I move as quickly as I can. I run as fast as possible after suffering the absolute onslaught I had not a minute ago, trying to make my footsteps as light as can be, dodging the weaker part of the rock as I go so I don't trip and fall to my death. Unfortunately, just before I'm about to reach the stable section of the bridge, I step too hard on the weak stone beneath me and I jump backwards a mere moment before the last connection to solid ground crumbles out from underneath my weight and falls a ridiculous distance down into the depths of the expanse.

Great, so now I'm stuck on a tiny, crumbling little inlet of rock in a sea of nothingness, and second-by-second, inch-by-inch, my viable standing space is decreasing in size. Bloody brilliant. I literally have nowhere to go.

My only option, literally my only option, is to jump across from where I am now on this tiny decaying death trap over to the slightly larger patch of viable rock, where I quickly notice Jules' prone form lying. Obviously, she had underestimated just how powerful her own impact bomb had been and had been caught in the backlash as well. But I don't have time to think about what that means for me right now, not when the ground is actually falling out from under me.

I hate—actually, hate isn't a strong enough word—I _loathe_ the idea of having to throw myself across a ridiculously large distance of empty space. Seriously, this jump has to be at least three or four metres, and I have no kind of run up whatsoever. But with every passing moment I'm literally losing ground, so I don't have the time to try and find a safer option. I take as many steps backwards as physically possible, take a few deep breaths, plead to any and every higher power that they've given me enough shit already and I don't need to fall a million miles to my death, before sprinting the tiny distance, using all the force in my legs, and launching myself across the expanse and mercifully coming to land on solid ground. That is until the very edge of the rock that I had landed on crumbled under the sudden addition of my weight, my very insignificant weight may I add, and fell out from underneath me.

As my body begins to freefall into nothingness I let out a small, bloodcurdling scream and throw my arms out hoping to catch onto anything that might keep me from taking the giant plunge to my death, and luckily, my hands manage to grip onto the edge of the stone. So that is how I find myself to be literally hanging onto dear life, my hands anchored onto the stone around me so tightly that I can feel the skin on my palms ripping underneath the jaggedly textured rock.

The muscles in my arms begin to burn as they support my entire weight, my biceps and triceps feeling like they could snap at any minute. A small bead of sweat begins to join the trickling blood on my forehead as I strain to keep a hold of my grip onto the rock. With each passing millisecond, my grip begins to weaken and my fingers begin to slip backwards, my injured and battered body simply not having the strength to keep myself suspended like this.

Come on, Aleah._ Survive._

Knowing that if I can't do this, that if I can't hoist myself back onto this ledge I will actually _die_, I use every inch of strength and adrenaline left in my body to begin straining myself inches back upwards. Every single muscle in my arms and shoulders feels like they are being physically torn from my bones as I cry out in agony at the force needed to defeat gravity and pull myself back upwards. After what feels like an immeasurable period of going through absolute torture, I manage to get myself into a position where my underarms are up over the rock, and I can allow myself a few blessed seconds of reprieve as I use different muscles to support myself. It is then that my eyes lock with another pair a mere few metres away from mine, but at the same height.

Jules is lying on the rock in front of me, her body in a feeble position on the floor across from me, and with each millimetre of movement she manages to force out of her absurdly pee-wee sized body, she winces in pain. Her hands are strewn protectively across her ribcage, and with every raspy breath, she appears to cringe, her face contorting in pain.

Ask me how much sympathy I have for the failed little pyrotechnician: absolutely zero. If you don't feel like having to deal with being thrown through the air and doing a little bodily damage, don't build yourself a freaking bomb. What did the bitch expect when she decided to mess with explosives? A nice, cordial little picnic? Personally, after the absolute beating my body took from her little stunt, I hoped she had at least a couple of broken ribs so she could begin to feel a tenth of the pain she'd put me through when she decided it would be intelligent to set off an incredibly unstable explosive on rather fragile and unsound foundations.

She attempts to laugh a little at the sight of me half-hanging over the edge of the cliff, but considering how hard it is for her to breathe right now, I feel like the laughing was more detrimental to her than it is to me.

"What?" she splutters between each hopefully excruciating laugh, "Don't feel like seeing just how far down that drop is, Aleah?"

I push my arms against the rock as hard as I can and swing my right leg up onto the stable ground before shooting back, "You're the brilliant scientist here, Jules, why don't you go find out yourself?"

Seeing that I'm not actually as close to falling to my doom as she probably hoped I was, Jules forces herself to push up onto her feet, her face twisting in pain as she, very ungracefully, stumbles back into a vertical position. I follow her lead after getting my left leg up onto the ground as well, and shakily manage to keep myself upright.

I take a deep breath before spitting, "There had better not be a plan C," as I pull my knives back out from their sheaths on my waist, the cold, hard metal that had felt so light before now feeling like lead in my heads, "because I swear to God, if you pull another bomb out of that backpack..." I didn't really have to specify what exactly the threat entailed; the very long, very sharp knives in my fingers spoke much louder than anything I could have said.

I became immediately aware of the fact that there could very well be another bomb in her backpack, and despite all my threats, I really didn't want to have to go through all that shit again. One terrifyingly life-threatening experience per day is quite enough, thank you.

I had to push through whatever pain I was feeling right now and turn the tables so we were playing to my advantages. I had let her hold the reigns for far too long, and it was time I got a chance to make a move. And the one strength of mine that she wouldn't be nearly as experienced or as skilled in: close combat.

I immediately take a step forward and slice my knife out towards her neck, and despite the fact that she reacts in time, I manage to create a thin line of red along her collarbone, causing her to wince slightly. She awkwardly fumbles around with a large dagger at her belt with her left hand, as she, quite stupidly, uses her right to block my oncoming undercut, the blade slicing deeply into her palm. I make another quick jab at her heart but she has her knife out in time and manages to block my blow to the side, but can't recover in time to block the slice at her abdomen that comes from my other knife. Right now she's fighting someone with considerably more weaponry that her; for one, I'm attacking with two blades when she only has one to defend with, as well as someone far more skilled with blades in general. I could see a small flash of something that looked kind of like a mixture of desperation and analytical assessment in her eyes as she did something I was in no way prepared for. She tackled me.

Okay, I may have pointed it out several times now that Jules is not a big person, but for fuck's sake, she weighs a lot more than she looks. Trust me, I know, I had her entire weight crushed onto me as she drove me into the floor.

As my back was crunched into the hard stone beneath me, Jules flings out a quick jab at my face, one that I luckily manage to avoid before she breaks my nose. I immediately use my knees to throw her off me, before kicking her backwards and searching for my two knives that had been scattered on the floor. As I reach over and grab the one closest to me, I turn back and see that Jules has not only reacquired her own dagger, but has picked up mine as well. I let out a quick curse as I grab the smaller knife that I had stashed away in my left boot, but not in time to completely dodge the primitive strike at my side that Jules unleashes, the knife just clipping my skin and causing a line of pain to course down my side.

I get myself back onto my feet in time to create and X shape with my knives and block her next blow, the edge of her knife brushing against my already bleeding knuckles. The blood on my palms makes it slightly harder to grip onto the smaller knife as it keeps slipping slightly out of grasp but I have to adapt quickly. Jules then attempts another unpracticed jab towards my ribs that I easily deflect, before snapping my right foot out, my boot meeting her squarely in the chest and hurling her backwards.

I have it, an opening, the perfect chance to finish this once and for all. Jules' crumpled form lies in a feeble heap on the ground as she struggles desperately to get up off the floor, the force from my kick on her already damaged ribs obviously making the pain too unbearable to push through.

Yet, for some reason, some stupid and some ridiculous reason, I'm frozen. I'm just as paralyzed as Jules, yet I know I don't have the justification of being in unbearable pain. I just can't make myself move, not for the life of me, I physically can't do it. I don't know why, I can't explain it, but I just become a statue as Jules forces herself back up onto her feet. I hesitate, and I lose my chance, because after that moment of freezing Jules is back up on her feet and has turned around to face me again.

One more, Aleah. That's all it will take. That's all you need to get out of this hellhole. Just _one_ final tribute to take out, then it'll all be over. You've fought this hard, come this far, you cannot give up now, not when you're so close. You have a right to protect yourself, to live. Do this one last thing, and then it's all over. Then you're done. Then you've survived.

The two of us stand and look at each other for a few timeless moments, both of us so beaten and broken that neither one of us wants to be the one to have to move first. I'm literally running on nothing but adrenaline, and I'm sure that if I get the chance to slow down I'll simply collapse and my body will begin to shut down within seconds. However long we stand there looking at each other, it must be too long, because after what seems like an eternity the world begins to shake beneath us and the small amount of stable floor we have begins to shrink even further.

In a perfect world, I would be allowed to focus on nothing but keeping myself upright, but Jules chooses that very moment as her best shot and swings her weirdly tipped dagger out towards me, luckily only cutting through the thin, bloodstained material of my shirt rather than my flesh. I quickly use the hilt of my blade to bash the dagger out of her hands before dodging just in time as she throws the other one at me. Whatever it was that was going through her head, Jules obviously wanted to finish me quickly rather than letting things drag out.

Jules lunges at me, and I immediately drop to the floor and kick out her ankle, sending her sprawling on the ground, but her momentum forces her to continue rolling and to crash into me, the two of us tumbling over each other getting closer and closer towards the edge of the cliff.

I immediately stick my right arm out and feel it latch onto one of the protruding rocks on the ground, and I quickly come to a stop just short of the ledge. But out of nowhere, I feel a sharp jerk on my left arm, and I cry out in pain as my left arm is twisted in an incredibly unnatural angle and pulled with a crazy amount of force. As I look over to see what the hell could be causing this excruciating pain, I notice that from my shoulder down my left arm, dangling off the side of the cliff, hanging from the edge of it, being supported and held in equilibrium by absolutely nothing else, is Jules.

"Well, this sucks," Jules pants softly, as she grips onto my upper arm so tight it begins to restrict my circulation.

I refuse to let myself hesitate again. I can't keep myself and Jules alive, it's just not possible. This is the Hunger Games, and there's only one rule, there can only be one Victor. I've fought this hard, this long, I've done everything I have so that I could get myself into this position, so that I could survive, and if I just give up now, then all of that would have been for nothing. Then Maia, Aspen, Aella, even Claus if you count him as mine, they would have all been for nothing.

Killing people may not exactly affect me the same way that it destroys other people, but that doesn't mean that I think death should be pointless. I can live with killing them because I know there was a purpose, because it was necessary. But if I can't win, if I can't finish this thing, then it was worthless. I have to win this thing, I have to survive and get back home to my brother. There just isn't another option for me.

I look down at Jules' tiny form dangling from my arm, her life quite literally in my hands, and I move my left hand down on top of her fingers clasped so tightly around my arm, "You may believe this, or you may not, I don't know," I say strongly, Jules' eyes locked with mine, "But I'm sorry, Jules. I'm _sorry_."

And with that, I sharply pry Jules' fingers off my upper arm, and watch as her form grows smaller and smaller as she falls further and further into the unknown nothingness below us. Once she's so far down that I can't see her anymore, I push myself back away from the edge of the cliff and up onto my knees, focusing on nothing but making sure that oxygen flows in and out of my lungs.

When eventually I do hear the cannon fire, it doesn't surprise me or terrify me the way Elia's had, not when I knew that it was coming and had closed myself off to everything around me. I only half-notice the hovercraft fly past me, lifting Jules' prone form up in its grasp. She obviously never hit the bottom of the cliff, if there even is a bottom, because her body looks almost undamaged as it disappears into the hovercraft. The air resistance must have killed her then, rather than the landing. I'm not sure whether or not that pleases me, or even worse, I'm not sure whether or not I really care. But somewhere, somehow, a sound manages to pierce through my little bubble of numbness and isolation. Only because what I hear are the words I have wanted to hear for the past ten days.

_"Ladies and Gentlemen, may I present to you the Victor of the Twenty-Fourth Annual Hunger Games, Aleah Armani—the tribute from District Ten!"_

As I kneel there, my pale skin cloaked in a foreign coat of dirt, blood and gravel, it suddenly all floods over me, everything that I've been through over this entire experience. Everything that they put me through, everything they forced me to do. The walls I had built for myself so many years ago for the first time were sieged, and my entire being begins to resonate with an unbearable pain. And yes, some of it is from the absolute agony that had befallen my incredibly broken and battered body.

But there was another kind of pain, something I couldn't identify and something that I couldn't understand. But whatever it was, it was all consuming and it terrified me more than I could have ever imagined.

A new kind of revelation comes upon me as the terribly out-of-place and fictitious seeming Capitol hovercraft comes and lowers itself down to pick me up in its claws.

There's a reason we are called Victors and not Winners. Because we may be victorious, we way have been the ones who survived everything, we may be the ones who get to live, but that is not winning.

After everything I've had to live through throughout this torture, there was never once a moment where I felt like a winner, and now, the only tribute left in this hell designed specifically to create death and pain, I couldn't see the triumph, only all the losses.

For some ludicrous reason, I feel one long tear trickle down the side of my blood stained cheek.

I may be a Victor, but in this moment, it's painfully clear to see, I have not won anything at all.


	70. Aftermath

****Here you go! The absolute last chapter of Tears of Blood! _Bring Them to Their Knees _will go up on Tuesday.

Thank you guys so much for sticking with us and making this a phenomonal success! We love you guys!

And the article wound up NOT mentioning _Tears of Blood_ and rather only my story _The Phoenix: Burning Day_. Nonetheless, I'd be thrilled to have you check it out-it's in the _Wall Street Journal. _An article called "The Weird World of Fanfiction" by Alexandra Alter.

Make sure to check out our wiki page which is a work in progress, and we have started a *NEW* Facebook page since only Mikki and Snev had access to the other one. The new link will be up shortly, and we'll be attempting to comment when each new chapter is going up and hopefully some splendid teasers!

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><p><strong>Aleah Armani, Victor of the 24th Hunger Games<strong>

**by cottoncandychoctop**

**'_People fear death even more than pain. It's strange that they fear death. Life hurts a lot more than death.'__  
><em>_-__Jim Morrison_**

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><p>You know that when the first thing you do upon re-entering normal society is kick a peacekeeper in the balls that the day is shaping up to be a pretty terrible one. Actually, scrap that, kicking the crap out of peacekeeper would normally be rather entertaining, but in this context it just emphasized how horrific the next few days were going to be.<p>

The minute that I'm lifted in up off the ladder I had been tethered to by a particularly uncomfortable electric current and into the depths of the giant, metallic hovercraft everyone around me begins to frenzy. Seriously, frenzy is the best word; they legitimately resemble those rabies infested rodents from this morning. Within milliseconds there have to be dozens of hands on me, people pulling me up off the floor and onto my feet, despite all the profanities I may or may not have been screaming at them as I told them to get their hands the hell away from me. The thing is, despite how important I've suddenly become to them, not a single person in that room listens to me.

The dozens of people that are up and restraining me as I kick and thrash within their grasp begin manoeuvring me towards a door, a door that leads to a very tiny, very enclosed glass room. My thrashing intensifies as I become somewhat of a hazard for all the people attempting to restrain me.

"Like hell you're going to get me in there," I shriek as I manage to get my right arm free by biting down on the fingers of the person who had previously been pinning it away from me. With my newly free arm I claw at the man restraining me by the shoulders, my nails digging into the material on his thickly gloved hands, before turning around and, you guessed it, kneeing him in the balls. Admittedly, I enjoyed that, but as the peacekeeper doubles over in what I assume, and hope, is excruciating pain, shit begins to hit the ceiling. My detaining detail doubles in size, literally a dozen people attempting to hold me steady, but with all the screaming and writhing it's impossible to subdue me. That, I suppose, is when they decide that attempting to get me to suddenly be compliant is futile, and I feel a syringe plunged into the back of my neck before the world starts to go hazy and I crumple unconscious onto the ground.

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><p>It could have been only a second later when I wake up, but I immediately know that's not in any way true. For one, I'm not locked in that tiny glass room as I assume I would have been for quite some time if I were still on the hovercraft, instead I'm trapped in an equally small white room, a small doorless, windowless room that makes me feel like I'm suffocating all over again. There's nothing in here besides a tiny plastic bin and the small bed that I have been shackled to, obviously my exploits in the hovercraft hadn't gone unnoticed. There are tubes and wires that have been forcefully shoved into my arms, and I have to fight every impulse in my body to not grab them and yank them out of my skin. The panic begins to set in as I look around at my cage, and as I become suddenly breathless and my body begins to quiver I start to fight against the restraints around my arms and my waist, bashing my suddenly ridiculously clean and manicured hands against the metal poles on the bed. Obviously it gets someone's attention, because within minutes one of the walls opens up on the other side of the room and a short pudgy blonde boy, who bears un uncanny resemblance to a slightly older Relk Stein, walks into the room carrying a tray of food and some uncommonly practical looking clothes.<p>

It is only after the ugly little oompa-loompa unties my restraints and allows me to get up to get dressed that I realise what has happened. For one, my skin looks absolutely flawless as I gaze over my reflection, every single gash, bruise, scrape or paper cut that I had ever suffered in my entire life was gone, not a single mark on my cream coloured skin. But that's not what I was looking at. No, my eyes are glued on an alteration far more obvious than the removal of any of my scars: my chest. Between the time that I had been knocked out cold in the hovercraft and now my previously modest bust has almost tripled in size, my body looking considerably more forged than it had ever looked before. I look disgusting, my now overproportioned breasts looking ridiculous next to my protruding ribs and hipbones due to the severe lack of fat on my bones. I quickly run out of the sight of the mirror, unable to look at my suddenly synthetic body, and over next to the small bin in the corner of the room and throw up every mouthful of the miniscule lunch I had had just minutes beforehand.

_What the hell have they done to me?_

By the time that I'm dressed and walking down the deserted corridor towards the giant chamber where I know someone will have to be waiting for me I've moved past disgust and onto fury. When I turn the corner and walk into the large, ornately furnished chamber I feel something close to relief encompass me at seeing Carmen, my bleached white haired, candyfloss-coloured loving stylist, waiting there for me. For some reason I want to run up to her, let her throw her arms around me and just cry into her shoulder, but I know better than that and I quell the stupid idea the second it pops into my head. She smiles as she sees me, probably the only person within a thousand mile radius who is actually happy to see me alive, but at the look of absolute rage on my face she becomes much more sombre.

"Well," she says with a small grin, "I'd say, 'I can't believe you did it,' but in all honesty I knew from the second I saw you that could survive this." Carmen moves forward and gently rests one of her perfectly manicured hands on my shoulder, her bleached white hair pulled back away from her face in a perfect ponytail, "Do you want to talk about it?"

"No," I say through closed teeth as I step away from her, "But perhaps you could explain this to me," I hiss as I gesture towards my newly developed chest.

Carmen takes a deep breath as her face grows empathetic, "I'm so sorry Aleah. We tried as hard as we could to demand that no alterations be made to you, but we couldn't stop everything. The things they wanted to do to you were considerably worse: dimple implants, widening your hips, tightening your waist, lip implants, eyelash extensions, they wanted to turn you completely into plastic. Heath and I managed to get rid of some of the more absurd ones but they wouldn't back down on this one. They said without it you'd look too unhealthy, starving even, without some of their 'help.' I did manage to point out that for the sixteen years of your life you actually _had_ been starving but they insisted and we couldn't change their minds on this one. I did manage to make sure they gave you nothing more than a D cup by threatening that it would be impossible to fix your dress if they gave you implants that were too large but apparently they stretched that limit a little."

I fix my face in a hard line, "So you're saying I should be thanking you for limiting the amount of mutilations that were allowed to occur on my body without my knowledge?" I ask harshly, despite the fact that I know it's not Carmen I'm so enraged at. _She_ is not the one who turned me into a human dress up doll.

"I'm saying that you've gone through hell," she says fixedly, "And now you're going to have to go through even more shit, but just remember that there are still a few of us fighting for you."

She wraps her arm around my shoulder as she guides me out of the chamber and up into foyer of the terribly familiar training centre, slowly heading towards the elevator. I immediately stop in my tracks as I realise where we are headed and pull myself out of Carmen's hold.

"I'm not getting in that thing," I whisper as I stare down at the tiny metal death trap in front of me.

"What?" Carmen asks, sounding a little puzzled as she looks at what I assume is a stupidly vulnerable look on my face.

"The elevator," I spit out quickly, "I'm not taking one step closer to it, no matter what." Just the thought of stepping inside that tiny metal box was making my stomach churn and my heart rate soar. Stupid freaking heart.

Carmen's face loosens a little, and her eyes quickly fill up with sympathy before she gives a little nod and whispers something into the ear of one of the men standing next to the elevator, before he nods and walks into the lift himself. Within less than a minute my extremely irritating prep team enter the foyer, their constant flabbergasting obvious not in any way deterred by the fact their tribute is glaring at them with a much venom as she can muster up. But I don't focus on the annoying little freaks in front of me, I instead focus on what the bald, heavily pierced girl with bright orange skin is holding in her hands.

The first thing I notice, and detest, is that it's strapless, with a ludicrously low cut sweet-heart neckline that obviously has been designed to accentuate my newly developed assets. Secondly, is that's it's freaking tiny, so tiny in fact that at first I mistake it for just being a shirt. The neckline and the hem are heavily embellished with thick red crystals, that even in this low light throw the light around the room, bathing this small space in a light red hue. What remains of the dress is made out of smaller red tinted gems, the whole thing looking terribly uncomfortable, not to mention ridiculously revealing.

"I thought you said I was wearing a dress," I exclaim in absolute disbelief as I look at the miniscule scrap of material in the prep lady's hands, "It would be pushing it to call that underwear."

"I knew you wouldn't be happy about this," Carmen admits apologetically as she moves towards me, "But a week ago every stylist with a tribute left alive had to submit five potential designs for their tribute should they be victorious. Out of the five I sent in the design of this one was the one they selected, only on the sketch they had written, 'tighten the bodice, lower the neckline, shorten the skirt and make it red.' So voila, enjoy every inch of my previously marvellous creation."

"There isn't an inch of it to appreciate," murmur as I glare hatefully at the contraption, "I guess they decided red was my colour," I say harshly, not even pointing out the irony with that because I knew it hadn't been wasted on Carmen. For all her capitolness, like the bleached white hair and the terribly pink clothes, she's actually one of the few people around here with a brain. I'll admit, it's somewhat refreshing to know there's a scrap of intelligence within a hundred kilometre radius.

Eventually Carmen coaxes me into getting the thing onto me, and as soon as it's zipped on I can feel just how tightly it hugs every contour of my figure, not leaving _anything_ to the imagination. Like I had anticipated, the neckline was a joke, so low that I felt like at any moment everything could just pop out, and the skirt was so short than I could only feel material maybe an inch or two below my ass. Once the prep team has done my extremely dramatic makeup, complete with a bottles worth of foundation, blood red lips and creepily smoky looking eye shadow, and turned my thick dark hair into long, dark curls I'm allowed to see what I look like. I don't even have to look for more than a second before I know exactly what the gamemakers want me to look like, the word pops into my brain the second I see my own reflection.

_Siren._

We are quickly ushered out towards the stage , and movement begins to whirl around me as I am placed in the desired position. I've watched these ceremonies a million times over back home, I know how the process works so I'm prepared when it begins. First the anthem plays, obnoxiously loudly I might add, loud enough to quell the roaring of the enormous crowd that has gathered here, and then Caesar Flickerman Sr. begins greeting the audience, wowing them completely speechless with his astounding stage presence, until he is joined by none other than my horribly ditsy escort Esserenda, who has probably been dreaming of this day since her sadistic excuse for a childhood. Then my prep team, Carmen, and then Heath, my pathetic excuse for a mentor, are all lifted up onto the stage as well. It doesn't go unnoticed that Heath has ever so skilfully avoided meeting me, believe me we will be having confrontation _very_ soon, he won't be able to hide from me forever and he has a _lot_ to answer for.

But as the metal plate on which I'm standing begins to raise itself up towards the stage I feel my heartbeat echoing in my ears, a thousand times louder than the screaming crowd. I know what's waiting for me on that screen, a three hour retelling of everything I lived through, of everything I'm trying to desperately to forget. I'll have to watch it, everything, and simply the thought of that fills me with dread. I can hide from it, send the thoughts back into the recesses of my mind when I know that it's in the past, but will I be able to hide from it when I'm forced to live through it again? I'll have to, no one can see me falter or they'll jump down and attack my point of weakness. They'll find a way to break me if I show them one, and I can't break, not after I fought so hard to pull through that hell. So I plaster an expression of outward confidence and condescension on my masked face, and as I am lifted up onto the stage I keep my head held high as the roars of applause become deafening.

The lights are absolutely blinding on the stage, and as I make my first appearance the crowd goes absolute wild, a cacophony of cheers, screams, wolf-whistles and applause greeting my cocky half-smile as I walk down towards the ornate chair sitting next to the ever-present Caesar Flickerman and his offspring. Caesar stands to greet me, his huge meaty hand suffocating mine as he offers me a round of congratulations, which the crowd then verify by screaming and cheering off their heads. I sit back down in the chair nonchalantly, crossing one leg over the other as Ceasar continues to joke around with the crowd. But, thankfully, his crappy excuse for stand-up is cut short when the mandatory, three hour recap of the games begins.

The first half an hour or so is more boring than bat shit, just a blow by blow of the first few days of preparation: you know reapings, chariot rides, interviews, training scores, all those really generic, really _boring_ things that everyone's already seen and no one really gives a crap about. But once the tributes are launched and the games begin I find it considerably harder to watch, or to repress the feelings bubbling up inside of me. The bloodbath is chaotic, from every angle, and people drop left right and center. The filmmakers make sure to include absolutely every single detail about Onyx's tragic demise, the soft, heartbreaking music in the background as she 'sacrifices' herself so ridiculously over the top that I just want to press the fast-forward button.

I'm quite surprised at just how much happened during the first few days of the games that I had no idea about: the fact that Relk speared _himself_ (why am I surprised I hear you ask, I honestly don't know), that Boston had been killed by Elia because he had thought she was me (again not all that surprising that ultimately it had been me to drive him insane, but I feel a little insulted at the fact he thought that ginger teen bride was me: surely I have a little more class than _that_) and that Nella had asked, that's right _asked_ Claus to kill her (once again, shouldn't have been surprised, but I had thought that that little twig had had some sort of intelligence. Look, if that's what love means, I want absolutely nothing to do with it). But none of those are the worst, the worst is pretty easy to pick out. I mean I'm not sure whether or not it's just the filmmakers editing or whether it was actually like that, but when Claus-slash-other Claus begins ripping Mack to shreds I have to look away for a second, firstly because it's freaking _horrific_ and secondly, which concerns me considerably more, is that the image of Claus lying there on the floor of the cave immediately flashes through my mind and paralyses me for a few seconds. God damn it.

But by the time I watch Jules drive a syringe filled with tracker jacker venom into Elia's thigh and watch her writhe in agony I can't bear to watch for one more second. I've managed to tune most of it out, to look but not really absorb everything, because making me watch this, making me live it all again, is just one last final torment. I've kept my face perfectly masked, the same half amused, half confident expression branded across my face the entire time because I know there are about a billion cameras on me right now. But as my eyes gaze across the screen as Jules and I are being pushed towards each other and that goddamned cavern I have to fight to keep myself from going absolutely berserk and storming out of here. I can't watch this again, I can't. I don't know why, but I just can't look at it anymore. The memories I've repressed begin beating at my brain, demanding that I face them and it takes all my will to hold them back.

The fight I can handle, it is in fact edited _perfectly_, every shot transitioning into the next with so much momentum and so much tension that it has little Ceasar Flickerman literally sitting on the edge of his seat. This is the part where someone notices the fact that a ten year old is watching a whole bunch of teenagers murder each other and he is _enjoying _it. Anyone else wanting to point out how fucked up that is? But seriously, it's so tense in this giant theatre that if someone had dropped a feather on the other side of the room it would have sounded like an avalanche approaching. It's only when Jules lunges at me that final time, and the two of us roll out towards the edge of the cliff, Jules clinging onto my arm desperately as her whole miniscule body is suspended in the air that my face hardens and my breath simply stops coming, my whole body screaming for some oxygen. Because I'm staring into those huge, pleading eyes of Jules Surket, her enormous irises conveying every human emotion known to man, doubt, terror, dread, horror, guilt, dismay, desperation, the list goes on and on. But the one emotion that stands out, as the filmmakers dramatically zoom in further and further onto Jules' eyes, is fear. That look, that feeling, is that of a young girl who's just absolutely terrified to die. And I watch myself, in slow motion, heartlessly pry her fingers from my flesh and let her drop into oblivion.

I didn't need to see that shot, didn't need to see the desperate, fear-ridden look in Jules' eyes as she clung to my arm. I didn't need to watch it because I see it every time I close my eyes, like it's permanently burned into the back of my brain.

I snap out of my weird state of absolute internal agony when I hear the anthem booming in my ears again, the horrible melody echoing throughout the entire hall, before our dearly beloved President Aeron Finn himself graces us with his presence. The urge to begin sprinting across the stage, tackle him down and begin clawing at his big black eyes wells within me, but after spending so many days in the arena I decide doing something suicidal like that would probably not be the smartest idea I've ever come up with. Instead I just watch his royal cockiness strut across the stage, followed by a tiny little boy carrying a marvellous gold crown on a little pink pillow.

I stand with my face fixed in a confident smile as Finn walks towards me, his brilliant smile as sweet as acid as he places the golden crown, which for some reason feels like it weighs a million tons, on the top of my head. He then takes my hand and the two of us bow, a few billion times, and I wave over and over again at the crowd before Caesar Flickerman signs off and I'm whisked away to Finn's mansion for the Victory Banquet.

For a banquet, there is really not much to eat around the place as I am thrown back and forth between Capitol Authorities and people who claim to be my 'most generous sponsors.' Hmm...That's funny, people who claim to have donated me money yet I never seemed to receive any parachutes. Interesting. A million pictures are taken, a billion faces flash by and tell me they thought I was going to win from the very beginning, and a trillion times I end up sarcastically flattering someone before I get dragged into it all again. The whole process would have been quite entertaining, if I hadn't had one particular meeting with my dear President.

"How lovely you like tonight Miss Armani," I hear his slithering voice echo in my ear, the urge to gauge out his eyes resurfacing all over again, "I think you're going to make such a wonderful Victor."

"Why thank you President Finn," I say with an overly dramatic bow, "I wish I could say you're going to make an equally wonderful President but I've been told lying is bad for one's eternal soul."

Finn laughs, the sound a sharp, whispy kind of noise than would make much lesser people shudder, "Oh Miss Armani, you really do have the sharpest tongue," his eyes quickly lose their humour as his face hardens, "It would be wise, I think, for you to learn to blunt it."

I don't back down for a second, "That's strange your Excellency," I say with mock sincerity, "I'm always told that I'm far too blunt already."

He doesn't look in any way amused. Gees, what a buzz kill. I'm about to lash into him again when this sadistic little smile creeps across his face and he looks at me with an unidentifiable glee, "We had such a joy watching your family during the final eight interviews," he says casually, and I immediately freeze, "Your twin brother is particularly charming. Such a lovely, charismatic, _kind_ boy, so very different from his sister."

My face becomes menacing, as I hear the threat in his voice, "I know, somehow the gene pool was so unevenly split. Yet for all the graces I lack I make up for it when it comes to dealing with pricks like you."

"You'd be careful with what you say and do Aleah," Finn warns with a hiss, "We wouldn't anything to happen to that lovely brother of yours."

"Touch him and I swear to god-" I begin but he cuts me off with a raised hand.

"There's no need for you to threaten me, Miss Armani," he says calmly, "That is, if you can show me you know your place and that you can do what you're told to."

I don't say anything, but I don't contradict either, just keeping my face hard as Finn turns around and points to one of the million well dressed, middle aged Capitol men in the room.

"Do you see that man?" he asks quietly, his voice sounding so serpentine it's making that giant snake from yesterday seem like a fluffy teddy bear.

"Yeah," I affirm, "Balding, muffin-topped, drooling. Basically your typical, middle aged, Capitol douche."

"That's the one," he agrees, gesturing to the man who is staring at me with a greedy grin, "His name is Walden Henning, he's one of the leading television producers in the capitol. He's very...interested in you Aleah. If you want to make sure that your brother stays completely unharmed, I want you to go home with that man, at least until your escort comes to pick you up later on this evening."

Let the record show, I'm not twelve years old. I completely understand what 'going home with that man' actually entailed, even if Finn was too much of a self-righteous prick to actually say the word _sex_. But the very thought makes my skin absolutely crawl and I have to fight not to throw up all over Finn's ugly grey suit. But at the same time I know that whatever threats Finn makes against Sean, they weren't empty. And I couldn't let him touch Sean, not as long as there was life in my body would he so much as give Sean a paper cut. So I harden my exterior, and prayed that I could think of some way to get out of this without Finn knowing about it later.

"Let me just go tell me mentor that he doesn't need to escort me back to the training centre," I say curtly, before excusing myself from Finn's presence and strutting away.

I actually have no intention in involving Heath in this, I have absolutely no desire to try and get my pathetic excuse for a mentor to help me with anything, but instead I find Carmen amongst the swarm of people surrounding the buffet table.

"I'm leaving now," I say overly loud, assuming that someone somewhere is listening to this conversation, "Can you please tell Heath that he doesn't need to escort me back to the training centre."

Carmen plays along, but there's a flash of concern in her eyes as she turns around and looks at me, "Where are you going? I don't want you to miss your own banquet."

"That _lovely_ gentleman over there has _invited_ me over to his house and I simply _must_ oblige him," I reply, hoping that my ridiculously sarcastic explanation is enough of a clue for Carmen to understand what I'm hinting at.

Carmen quickly nods as she pulls me into a quick hug, and I feel something cold press against the outside of my thigh, underneath the miniscule skirt of my dress. I look down and see that she's subtly tucked a long steak knife from the buffet table into the top of my stockings, obscured from vision underneath my skirt.

"Make sure nothing happens to that dress," she says with a little flick of her hair, but her eyes show me her real intention. _Make sure nothing happens to you._

"I will I promise," I say, as someone in a black suit and a headpiece comes to guide me outside.

I'm quickly escorted out of the President's mansion by limousine and taken to some crazily elaborately decorated condo a few miles away from the training centre. I'm surprised to see that Walden has beaten me there, and is sitting on the couch as I walk through the door.

"Miss Armani," he says, his greasy, balding hair reflecting the dim light coming from above him, "It's such a pleasure to have you here with me. Please come sit." He says, gesturing to the seat next to him on the couch. I find myself fighting the urge to run out of here this very instant, but I know that whatever happens, it has to at least _look _like I had had sex with this disgustingly sleazy man, because if Finn hears so much as a whisper of what I'm planning he'd probably have Sean's head within the day.

I slowly walk over towards him and sit down on the couch, trying to keep as much distance between me and Walden as possible.

"May I just say Miss Armani, or may I call you Aleah," he asks to which I can't help but give him a small glare.

"Let's stick with Miss Armani," I say through closed teeth, before quickly silencing myself. Walden gives a small laugh before continuing.

"I'm sorry Miss Armani, it just seems like I already know you so well, I was always such a big fan of yours, from the very first moment you came out in that chariot outfit," I swear to god he licks his lips at that moment and I can't help but cringe, "but looking at you tonight, you are just absolutely ravishing," he says as he puts one huge sweaty hand on my bare leg.

As his hand moves up my thigh, his clammy hands not in any way expert at this kind of thing, I immediately step back and kick him in the chest, drawing the steak knife that Carmen had given me out of its hiding place under my skirt. Walden looks startled, and immediately backs away from the knife like it might leap out and bite him. I give a small laugh at how pathetic he is before making my point.

"Here's how this is going to go," I say in a tone that suggests I'm not in the mood for negotiating, "If you feel like losing a couple of fingers, and maybe a kidney, by all means continue attempting to rape me." I pause dramatically, "If not, I suggest you keep your filthy hands away from me."

Walden's eyes pretty much double in size as he takes in the sight of the knife in my hands, but immediately frowns before scowling and saying, "You're bluffing. You can't hurt me."

"Want to try me," I query, the knife held out in front of me a very strong contradiction, "It'll only cost you a limb if you're wrong."

Walden shuts up, looking defeated and as scared as a little girl who's afraid of the bogeyman under her bed. I imagine he's never been in a position like this in his life, where someone he's trying to pay for sex has actually stood up and said 'fuck off.'

"Now, what's going to happen is after tonight, you are going to tell President Finn, and anyone else who asks, that I was absolutely compliant and did everything you asked me to," I command, my tone suggests he listen and listen well, "You're not going to go out there and parade your sexual exploits, simply if someone asks who say 'yes we had sex' and then move on. Understood?"

I hear some kind of mumble in reply so I ask again, my knife inching closer to him, "Understood?"

"Yes," he shrieks, backing further away from the pointed steel, making me roll my eyes. Pathetic. He's a grown man for god's sake.

"Now get up, take off your shirt and put it back on inside out," I say, as I begin to rustle up my hair and smear my make up a little, before lightly dousing my hairline in water from Walden's kitchen tap. Bringing a cup of water back I throw it over the crotch of his pants, and at the dismayed expression on his face I smirk and say, "Dramatic effect."

I then proceed to get Walden's tie off him and loosely drape it over my own neck, while at the same time, quite skilfully I might add, manage to get my own bra off from under my dress and throw it down on the couch next to Walden. I do battle with the zip of my dress a little, forcing it to break in a way that looked like it was forcefully broken, before I go and rustle up both the couch cushions and the bed linen. Once I'm finally pleased with my work of art I come back and stand glaring over Walden with the knife held out in front of me.

When finally the doorbell signalling Esserenda's presence rings I lean in and whisper one final threat to Walden, "If anyone so much as hears about what happened, or more precisely what _didn't _happen tonight you can bet I will know _exactly _who to blame and who to come punish. So are we perfectly clear?"

"Yes," he whispers back, the terror in his voice extremely clear for everyone to hear.

"Good," I say as I strut over to the door. Esserenda looks absolutely appalled at my shoddy appearance, as does the man who had escorted me in previously, which is probably a good sign. I turn back around and beam at Walden, who is still sitting in complete shock on the couch, probably another good sign.

"Goodnight Mr Henning," I say in a small sing song voice, "It was _such_ a pleasure to meet you." And with that I strut out of the apartment, leaving Walden Henning alone in his room, and my virginity still one hundred percent intact.

* * *

><p>The next day, it starts all over again. Tonight's my interview, and the whole beautifying process has to be completely repeated. Once again I am poked and prodded into 'perfection' every inch of me lathered in some kind of chemical and my whole body doused in disgustingly potent perfume. Heaven forbid I not <em>smell<em> perfect. I never thought it could have been possible, but the dress I'm wearing tonight is even worse than last night's. Oh don't you worry, it's equally tight, equally short and equally red only this time it comes complete with elbow length red gloves and eight inch high heels. Joy of my freaking life. Just in case I needed to be whored up some more, here it is. Now I'm the total package. It comes to the point where I'm about to start physically attacking people, believe me I've had no issue _verbally_ abusing people all morning, but this one bitch with so many tattoos covering her face it's hard to see where her nose is has just seriously been asking to be backhanded all bloody day. I'm about to completely explode, everything just becoming way too much, before a sound coming from the door stops me.

"Let the Victor get some air," I hear an awfully familiarly gruff voice behind me, strong and steady as always, the kind of voice that doesn't demand authority but generally gets it anyway, "I think she's earnt it."

I turn around slowly and dramatically, the glare that settles on District Ten's only other victor one hundred percent genuine.

"Look who woke up and decided he wanted to be a mentor," I shoot at him, my gaze locked on him as he quickly averts his gaze from me, "Sorry Heath old boy but you're a little bit late."

Heath doesn't look at me; instead he focuses on the bitch with the shrill voice, the one currently holding the multiple weapons of mass destruction, aka eyelash curlers and chicken fillets. Oh didn't I mention that, despite the fact that my chest now has a freaking kilo's worth of plastic on it apparently it needs supplementation. Insert disgusted eye roll here.

"My tribute and I need to have a discussion privately," he says coolly, "for all of your sakes I think it would be best if it were outside," when they look a little confused he clarifies, "Away from any sharp instruments."

"But-"the cotton candy haired lady begins to protest before Heath quickly cuts her off.

"You've already done a beautiful job with Miss Armani," he praises, all-though for anyone with a brain more than the size of a gnat it would be painfully obvious to see how forced his compliment is, "She's already looking far lovelier than anyone ever could have thought was possible. Now I need a few moments with her before she goes on stage."

My loathing glare intensifies with each double edged compliment, and as much as I want to tell Heath to go screw himself, the prospect of getting out of this tiny, ridiculously cramped room is far too good to disregard.

"Aren't you going to congratulate me Heath?" I say with a pathetic little laugh after we've made it onto the roof, raising my arms a little and doing a mock curtsy as I step back away from the edge of the roof.

"No, I'm not," he says softly, stepping out away from me and looking out across the city, the last few precious rays of sunlight disappearing behind the horizon, "I may be the only person not to, but I don't think you really want to be congratulated."

"Oh, and how would _you_ of all people know what I'm feeling?" I laugh back, his attempt at empathy ridiculous considering how very dissimilar we are.

"Because I've been where you are right now Aleah," he explains calmly, "And believe it or not, I know exactly what you're feeling right now."

I'm about to tell him that he has no idea what I'm feeling, and that he never will, when he raises his hand to shut me up and walks over to stand by the roof's railing, leaning his hands on the frosted glass in front of him.

"I suppose this is generally that point in a Victor's life where they sincerely thank their mentor for all the help they gave them during the games," I say nonchalantly, breaking the silence, turning around to look at Heath, "where they earnestly show every appreciation possible for all the life saving provisions they sent down to them in the games. Where they say something along the lines of, 'I simply couldn't have done it without you.' Well, here's the thing Heath, I _did_ do it without you. What did I get from you? What did you do to help me whatsoever? Answer, absolutely nothing. Not one half-decent piece of advice, not one little tip to give me an edge, not one single, solitary parachute sent to me while I was fighting for my life in there."

Heath won't look at me, but the flash of guilt in his eyes is indistinguishable. He sure as hell should be guilty, I'd be willing to bet that _someone_ put some money on me; I was the last outlier left alive after all and had had one of the highest death counts in the games at certain points. There are a lot of people on this planet, and a fair few of them have a shitload of money that they have nothing to do with. I may not have been a good investment at the start, but at least by the time we were down to the final eight people would have had to have sent in some money, I've never heard of any tribute not getting a single cent. So then it all comes down to, where did that money go? Answer: my mentor. My mentor who had probably never been happier than the moment I was shipped off to my death.

"It was never any kind of secret that you wanted Boston get out of there a million times more than me," I say strongly as I glare him down, "The creepy bromance you two had was enough of an indicator of that. But he was dead and gone by day four, _day four. _So where were you for the rest of it? Where were you for all the other days?"

Heath turns around and looks at me, his face now calm and calculated and his body poised. I don't know what's running through his pea-sized cranium but there is the smallest touch of pity in the way he looks at me, which infuriates me even further.

"You left me in there to die!" I yell, taking a step in towards him, "You're the person who was supposed to be watching out for me in there, the one person who was supposed to have had my back and you couldn't have cared less whether I lived or died! You were my mentor and you abandoned me!"

I don't know why I'm so terribly furious at him, like I said we had never exactly had a budding relationship, and I never asked or expected him to help me. But at the end of the day it was his job, his _responsibility_ to help me, and the fact that he had hated me so much that he had ignored that is absolutely enraging. I may not have liked him, and I knew he hadn't liked me, but I had had to put that basic level of trust in him, I had been forced to, and he had broken that trust when he decided he didn't want me to live.

I take a deep breath and try to calm myself, my fury at him so overwhelming that my body is literally shaking. He doesn't really look all that phased by my accusations, he just stares at me for a few, long seconds, watching me fuming with rage before saying, "Feel better?"

"Oh, you haven't even seen me angry yet," I spit across at him, refusing to back down for one second, "And, believe me, you don't want to."

"You're emotional, enraged and you're pissed off at the entire world." Heath says, his voice sounding irritatingly balanced, "There's a hundred different feelings racing around inside you, but most of all you're scared and you're angry and you need someone to focus all that fury on, which is why you're lashing out at me."

"I may be in an incredibly hostile place right now, but that doesn't mean what I said was any less true and you know it," I shout at him, the temptation to throw my heels at his face increasing with every single word that comes out of his oversized mouth. The only reason I don't is because I know that if I break these shoes Carmen will just go and find me an even higher pair and force me into them. Damn that woman.

That quick stab of remorse flashes across his face again and he winces a little, but he has regained his composure so fast I'm not even sure I saw him falter in the first place, "I can take it, being your punching bag, but you need to get it together before you go on stage."

"Why?" I say with a mocking laugh, "Who cares what I do or say now? The Games are over, it doesn't matter anymore."

"That's where you're wrong Aleah," Heath cautions, his voice much more earnest now, "This is where the real game starts. For the next year everything you do and everything you say will have to be planned, thought out, predetermined. You can't just leave anything up to chance anymore."

"What the hell is that supposed to mean?" I query harshly, admittedly confused at this point.

"You don't know just how much power you have in your hands right now Aleah," Heath says practically, "You represent everything they hate, or at least everything they hate from an outlier. You're strong, you're outspoken, you don't back down and you are not in any way compliant. That's powerful, and they don't like sharing power with anyone, especially not someone with as many authority issues as you."

I don't need him to explain who the illustrious 'they' he is referring to are. I know who he means, the Capitol, the Gamemakers, the people who keep everything going in motion. The bastards who just sent me through hell and back, and who now apparently want me broken even more than they did before.

"So what does that mean?" I ask cautiously, my previous hostility seeming a little inconsequential now.

"It means that whatever they ask you to do, you do it," Heath instructs, gently grabbing onto my bare shoulders before I slap his hands away and step back, recoiling away from his touch, "They're going to want to subdue you Aleah, and you have to let them. Step one toe out of line and there will be repercussions, serious repercussions. They will push you to breaking point until they find some point of weakness, and if you give them a reason to they will completely snap you, or anyone they think they can use against you."

I turn around and kick one of the walls behind me, and immediately pay the price. You think I would have learnt my lesson after getting beaten up by walls several times during the arena, but apparently not. I let out a few profanities before turning back around to Heath.

"This isn't why I won this thing Heath!" I shout back at him, my toes throbbing after the impact on the cement they just endured, "I didn't survive for the chance to fight another day. I won this so it would be over, so everything would be_ over_."

"Well unfortunately, it's not," Heath says gently, his eyes intent, "And trust me, if they get their way, it never will be. Starting today, you have to learn to listen to orders, because one rebellious thought pops into your brain and they will end you." Heath takes a deep breath, "But before that, there's something I need you to do."

I scoff at him, not able to contain my laughter at the irony of it, "_You_ need _me_ to do something for you. Tell me Heath, why should I want to do _anything _for you?" If he thinks I owe him anything, and that I am in anyway feeling generous towards him, he is seriously mistaken on both counts.

Heath's gaze intensifies, and his usual cool begins to crack a little, "This is important Aleah. This is bigger than you and it's bigger than me. This is something that, if you don't fix it, could be absolutely catastrophic for everyone in the districts."

"Geeze, cool down with the melodrama," I say with a small roll of my eyes, "Why don't you start by actually telling me what it is you want from me."

Heath takes a deep breath before looking head on at me, "When you go to this interview tonight, you're going to have to watch and say a lot of things. You'll have to comment on the arena, on some of the moves you made, on the events that took place and most importantly, on the tributes that fell while you were in there," he says composedly, "But what I need you to do, is to completely destroy the credibility of Moss Dorian."

Okay, I'll admit, that I wasn't expecting.

"Moss?" I ask, sounding disbelieved, "What does Moss Dorian have to do with anything? That airhead didn't even make it to the final four."

"Maybe not," Heath says sternly, "But he did manage to do something fairly significant before Jules Surket killed him."

The mention of Jules name stabs a little at me, and the look on her face as she hung suspended in the air by nothing other than my arm flashes in front of me again, but I ignore it as Heath holds out some small, portable device, motioning for me to watch the screen on it. I look down and see a very familiar looking scene on the screen in front of me, a field of ash surrounding the golden cornucopia and a round metal table with what is now five vials of thick, clear, putrid liquid in them. I myself had been at that table what could have only been minutes before this was filmed, because lying in Moss's ludicrously muscled arms was a very distinguishable blonde girl with blood stained on her clothes, blood from the knife wound I had etched into her back. But it was fairly obvious Aella was dead by this point, the lifeless glaze over her charred features was enough of a giveaway. I quickly swallow the knot in my throat and the slash of pain inside me as I look at the girl I murdered, but instead focus in on the crazed looking boy cradling her.

I hadn't seen this, I believe by this point I had been hightailing back as far away from that lunatic as possible, you know, to avoid getting a sword thrust into my spinal column. I hadn't known Claus had shown up, but I suppose that made sense considering he had seemed fairly lucid when he and I had had our encounter. The Moss on the screen begins rambling, his hysterical mumbling becoming increasingly loud and increasingly enraged. But with each rebellious word he speaks I become increasingly more anxious, the crazed look in his eyes becoming impassioned as he talks about his ability to defy the Capitol. And then I physically cringe at his absolutely idiotic grand finale.

'_Fuck you, President Finn! Fuck you, Flickerman and all your prissy little friends! And fuck the whole damn Capitol!'_

"Oh Moss," I groan, shaking my head at his absolute stupidity, "Even _I _never thought you were quite that moronic. What an _absolute_ imbecile!"

Look, I'll be the first to admit that I'm not exactly a Capitol fan, they dragged me through hell and back and I detest each and every one of them with every fiber of my being. But something like that, that's just stupid. People have to learn that you just _can't _say things like that, especially not live on television! You're just asking for shit to happen if you go do something as idiotic as that.

"They'd have had to have edited this out right?" I ask as I give the device back to Heath and he nods.

"The 'live feed' that the people in the capitol and the districts see is precisely one hundred and forty-two seconds behind the _actual _live feed. The team of capitol editors have that much time to cut out and edit fragments as well as choose which cameras to air before the general population sees it. But us up in the mentor's box need to have the actual feed running live twenty four hours a day, because if we got it a hundred and forty-two seconds late by the time we sent something down to you it might be too late-"

"Not that you would know," I shoot across at him disdainfully, but he ignores my jab and keeps going.

"We all saw it the minute it happened, and we all recognised how significant it was," Heath says quietly, his eyes locked on the image of that lunatic still frozen on the screen of his device, "But in the past there have been people, normally from three and from five, who have been able to hack into the live stream and access all the footage. If any of them saw it and passed around the information about a tribute doing something like this..." he didn't really have to elaborate, I got what it could mean, "They're absolutely furious, I've never seen them take something like this so seriously before. What Moss has done could be disastrous."

"So what can I possibly do about it?" I ask patronisingly, "Unfortunately I haven't quite perfected my whole space-time continuum modifier yet so I can't go back and tell Moss to keep his freaking trap shut."

"You need to completely quell any rumours and dangerous thoughts that may or may not be floating around out there," Heath insists, "You just need to obliterate Moss' reputation and integrity. Say whatever you have to; say he was insane, bloodthirsty, completely paranoid and power hungry, whatever you can think of. Just do what you do best Aleah, rip that boy to shreds."

And so I do, and it's almost too easy. Obviously someone had told Caesar that he needed to give me something to work with regarding Moss, because after we'd gone over a few pointless questions regarding my favourite moments in the arena (with which I answered 'why all the marvellous friendships I made of course,' which had sent the small studio audience into a hysteria that lasted a ridiculously long time) and how I had managed to go unnoticed for so long ('Ceasar do you think anyone that looks like me really goes unnoticed,' had been my effortless reply, to which I had been wolf-whistled for the millionth time) he begins to ask me about the feast, and whether or not I was scared about going insane.

"Well of course I was worried Caesar," I say with an overly dramatic roll of my eyes, "But in all honesty I was a little surprised to hear we'd all been infected with an insanity virus. I mean _I _had never looked insane had I folks?" I ask with a bat of my heavily mascara adorned eyelashes , to which I'm answered with a thunderous cheer from the few dozen people in the studio, "Plus half the tributes that I was sent into that arena with were certifiably mad to begin with so I never noticed it was being hyped up." There is a roaring of laughter coming from the audience at that point and I give them a smirk before adorning mock seriousness.

"No joke people, you only got to see them on stage and behind the camera, but if you had been there behind the scenes you would understand I'm being one hundred percent serious," I say with a wink, "Some of them should have been institutionalised."

"Oh really?" exclaims Ceasar between each irritating chuckle, "Any _particular_ tributes?"

I dramatically lean back in my chair and pretend to ponder his question, "Hmm...let me see...well of course there's your obvious ones, like Roy, Claus and of course my _poor, tragically _simple district partner Boston," I say with a touch of ridiculously forged melodrama, before leaning in and acting like I'm about to reveal the most scandalous secret in the history of Panem, "But you know who was really the worst of them all? Moss Dorian."

Whispers begin to erupt across the studio as Ceasar looks a little too baffled by my claim, "Moss? Really?"

"Really," I confirm as I lounge back in my ornately decorated chair, "I mean you never would have guessed it after watching that recap from yesterday but he was just absolutely insane. Even from the days we spent in the training center he had the smaller ones running away cowering. He was just completely bloodthirsty, overly paranoid about everything and everyone, I don't think I ever heard two words of sense come out of his mouth at the same time. And what was worse, was that he had what we used to describe as an 'addictive personality.' I mean you saw the way he obsessed over Lilly and Aella, how absolutely crazed he became after their deaths. The reason was because he was actually infatuated with them both, fanatical even. Aella told me during the training days that she was scared of what he'd do if she told him she didn't want to be around him, she was terrified for her life. And believe me she had every right to be, that's why she stuck around with him, because she was afraid of what he'd do to her if she tried to leave."

"Is that so?" Caesar questions, sounding enthralled with my completely bullshitted tale. Of course none of that had happened, and anyone who had two inches of sense would have known Aella and I were in no way pals, she never would have told me anything of the kind, but if I could at least convince some dim witted Capitol gamemakers that Moss had always been incredibly insane, perhaps they would just tone down the melodrama regarding his ludicrously idiotic outburst.

"Believe me Caesar, he was as deranged as they come, and I think I can speak for everyone when I say that the people of District Four are lucky their children won't have to live with someone like that in their neighbourhood."

I quickly glance over to Heath, who has been standing in the back of the studio this whole time with a worried expression on his face, and he gives me a small nod, to which I give a relieved sigh, before turning back around to Caesar. After knowing that I had successfully destroyed any credibility Moss Dorian's words could have ever held, the rest of the interview seemed to fly by. At the end of the interview, after we had walked to ten flights of stairs to the tenth floor of the training building Heath turns and lightly claps me on the back.

"Thank you for that," he says sincerely, his eyes soft as he takes in the sight of me, "A lesser person than you would have just told me to bugger off and not done anything to try and fix it."

I turn back around to look at him, my fury at him not in any way miraculously lessened because I had agreed to work with him.

"This does _not_ mean I forgive you," I say evenly, my voice perfectly measured, "In fact, quite the opposite. But luckily for you, you'll have the rest of your life to try and make it up to me," I glare at him, simply at the prospect of spending the next fifty odd years with this crappy excuse for a man, "and believe me, you'll need every single second. Because after how you abandoned me, I will never forgive you."

And with that I storm off down the hallway to retreat back into my room, hating that I still have to make sure to keep the door wide open just so I don't feel like I'll suffocate.

* * *

><p>I don't know why, but the minute that I step off that train station the next day, I feel so nervous that it's extremely lucky I've managed to maintain a hold of my lunch. There are cameras absolutely everywhere, millions of people wanting to document the reaction of district ten's first female victor making it home. A tad pathetic don't you think, firstly that it's taken twenty-four years for this district to produce a female victor, and secondly that almost the entire district seems absolutely enthralled considering that three weeks ago they all absolutely hated me. Funny how becoming a mass murderer can change people's opinions of you.<p>

The flashes of the millions of cameras are absolutely blinding, different lights flashing from every different direction as my eyes strain to find the one face in this crowd of screaming neighbours that I actually want to see. But what if he's not here? What if he hates me now? What if he saw all the interviews, and flashbacks and replayings and realised that I'm just a truly despicable person? What if my twin brother can't bear to even look at me?

But then I see him, standing at the front of the crowd, fighting as hard as he can to get past the dozens of people blocking his path. My eyes meet his as he looks up at me, and for a single second my heart absolutely stops beating as he simple stands there and stares at me, almost like he doesn't quite recognise me. But then he smiles that huge, natural smile that I've seen on him every day since he was born, and he begins tearing through the crowd to get to me, and I immediately run as fast as I can off the platform to reach him. The people around us part as we finally meet, and he wraps his arms around my back and holds me so freaking tightly that I legitimately can't breathe. But I don't care, I squeeze him back just as hard and as the two of stand there, two people that until three weeks ago had literally not been separated since conception, it's almost like the last three weeks didn't exist.

"You came back," he shouts into my ear, causing me to flinch back a little, "You came back!"

"I told you I would," I say as I pull back, a playful little smirk on my lips, "What? Didn't you believe me?"

"Of course I did," he says with a proud smile, "But you sure as hell took you're time. And you gave me a scare at the end there, when you were dangling off the edge of that rock, you nearly gave me a heart attack."

I freeze a little at the mentioning of it, and almost feel myself hanging on the edge of that cliff again, before pulling myself up and looking into Jules eyes. When she had been alive. Before I had killed her. The light in my face fades away, and Sean immediately realizes his mistake and his face quickly becomes sincere, "Sorry, I shouldn't have said anything."

"Don't worry about it-" I begin, but I stop as another pair of eyes meet mine. A familiar pair of brown irises look into my ice blue ones, irises that belong in the face of my sister, Talia. She's standing perhaps twenty metres back in the crowd, my mother, my father and Yianna all standing with her. None of them are fighting, clawing to get towards me as Sean had done; in fact none of them seem to quite know what to do. I had seen their interview, I had seen what they had said when that boorish Capitol man had come and asked them about me. Talia for her part hadn't looked liked she cared about anything more than being on television, and my father hadn't give two tosses about the fact I was fighting for my life in a man-made hell, he was pissed that I hadn't been doing my _chores_. Oops, sorry dad, didn't really have time in between staying alive and killing other people to scoot home and hay the horses. Shame on me. I recall that my mother had cried, but I knew exactly why it was she had wept for me. Not because she cared that I was seconds away from dying, but because it was _her _fault I was in there in the first place.

Now, none of them really do anything when they see me watching them, Talia gives me a kind of nervous half-smile, like she's expecting me to come over and attack her but she's praying that I won't, and my mother looks at me with a hopefulness in her eyes that makes me want to scream. Sean looks over his shoulder at our family and smiles a little at me, but when I immediately turn away from them his smile drops a little.

"You can go with them if you want to," I say evenly, focusing on just getting the words out of my mouth, "But I can't go back."

He beams at me sincerely, "Are you kidding little sis?" He laughs a little, such a pure, rich sound it makes me hate how condescending I always sound when I laugh. "If you think I'm going to let you enjoy that huge mansion all by yourself you're delusional. I'm coming with you."

See the thing about Sean is, that when he smiles it's so damn infectious that you can't help but smile with him, and as crappy as the world seems to be, when he's around that kind of fades away. Not completely, I'm not sure that I'll ever be able to completely mask that world, but with Sean things seem manageable, possible, he just has this crazy optimism about him that, I'll admit is occasionally irritating, but just seems to make you double back and think, 'hang on, maybe I can do this.'

There's a reason that my new house is called a mansion, because it's absolutely freaking huge. There are so many rooms, so much ludicrously large and ornate pieces of furniture and just so many things that I will never need and will probably never want or use, but nonetheless, it's apparently all mine. Considering that it's going to be just Sean and I living here, there's going to be a shitload of empty rooms, and more than once Sean subtly hinted at the idea of letting the rest of our family come and live with us as well but I quickly dismissed it. Sean, with his overly forgiving nature, doesn't understand what it means to hold a grudge, nor does he understand what it was like in there, and hopefully he'll never have to understand. But he tries to, he's far to empathetic for his own good, and after the cameras leave and we're finally free to just sit back and relax, all he wants to know is how I'm feeling.

"Aleah?" he asks gently, not looking one hundred percent comfortable in this new, huge, strange house that apparently was our new home.

"Yeah?" I ask, feeling incredibly exhausted after the past couple of days. Scratch that, the past couple of weeks.

"What was it like," he asks softly, not wanting to pry but at the same time, trying to understand, "in there?"

I find myself paralysed again, like I'm simply unable to move or breathe or do anything. I can't even think about it without feeling like I'm drowning under all the memories, which terrifies me more than anything.

"I can't-" I start, unable to do that thing people seem to do, you know the one I'm thinking of, talking, that's the one, I couldn't do that, "I just can't talk about it Sean," I whisper, feeling my heart hardening inside my chest and my mind fortifying the blockade it's constructed against these very kind of thoughts, "I can't even think about it. I just need to put it behind me, and just keep going focussing on the future. Because If I keep looking back-If I keep thinking about it it'll tear me apart. And I can't break now Sean, not after everything."

"I know," he coos, his voice so damn sincere I was wondering, not for the first time in my life, how on earth he was my twin, "I'm sorry. From now on we don't talk about the past; we focus on what's in front of us."

I give him a small smile, before turning over again and resting my head on one of the big, puffy pillows on my lounge.

"Aleah?" he asks again, and I fight the urge to throw my pillow at him.

"Yeah?" I groan, just wanting to go to sleep.

"Thank you."

I turn back around and look at my twin with a confused look in my eyes. What the hell was he thanking me for?

"Thank you for what?" I ask, completely puzzled.

"For coming back," he says lightly, his eyes, almost the exact same colour as mine, glowing a little as he looks at me, "I know it wasn't easy for you. But you never gave up and you came back. I don't know what I would have done if you hadn't. So thank you."

I smile tenderly at him, feeling like perhaps surviving wasn't so terrible after all, "Thanks for still being here when I got back."

"Anytime and every time," he says with a light smile, before turning over on his couch and softly drifting off to sleep. I had always envied Sean's ability to just sleep whenever he wanted, but after three weeks of complete restlessness, even I tonight had the ability to just roll over, close my eyes, and with the knowledge that Sean would be there in the morning, drift off to sleep on my couch.

* * *

><p><strong>Nine Months Later<strong>

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><p>It never leaves me, not for one day.<p>

No matter what I do, no matter what I try, I can't shake it, I can't repress it. I can do a pretty damn good job, don't think I can't, but every day, somehow, someway, something will come along that will set me off, and one of the million memories that's permanently etched into the back of brain will come forward, paralysing me, causing me to forget how to breath and sending quivers down my spine and the back of my neck.

There were low points of course, over the next months. The victory tour and all the wonderful joys it contained is an obvious one, that came six months after I returned home to district ten. It was chance for me to live everything again, and to actually go around the country meeting the families of the children who died so that I could wear my stinking crown. I know, it's a fabulous concept.

There were some standout districts of course. Seven was particularly unpleasant, I mean I had blackmailed and used Aspen considerably during his time in the games, and then I had actually killed him. In my defence, he asked me to, but again that was because I held the key to destroying the lives of him and everyone he loved. It was probably my only redeeming quality in that fraction of the pain that ate at my being that I had in fact kept my word, and to this day had never said a word to anyone about the whole Aspen/Araucaria mess. Oh and then of course there was the little cherry on top which was that Nella had pretty much killed herself after I had killed Aspen. Yeah, seven was not fun at all.

Five was again not a favourite, because I had pretty much killed both of the tributes from that district. I had killed Aella, there was no doubting that, and I think technically Claus had been counted as my kill in the statistics record, but I was still mentally debating whether or not I should add him to my own personal list of people I murdered. I counted Roy on that list, even though I hadn't physically killed him it was my plan that had resulted in his death, as well as Boston, who I had driven completely barking insane. Believe me, if you think I take pride in the fact that I am responsible for the deaths of, by my count, six people, you are quite severely mistaken. Those names are the ones that haunt me the most, even now, nine months after the last drop of blood was spilt.

Speaking of which, three was equally as bad, because while I had had nothing to do with Mack's death, if perhaps I hadn't pulled myself up off that ledge, Jules would have been standing in my place at that very moment. It's not an easy thing to look into the eyes of a family who had wished and hoped and had gotten so close knowing you're the reason that everything around them fell to pieces. Yes, even my pathetic excuse for a conscience was not happy with that experience.

Even once the tour was over and after all the celebrations and the parcels they received in district ten, all the tour had done was give me more memories that would continue to haunt me, and no matter what I did I couldn't forget them. Stupid freaking brain.

Luckily enough I had managed to have very minimal contact with my family, excluding Sean who had taken up a permanent residence with me of course. I had bumped into Talia a few times around the 'town' but had always managed to escape her before she managed to say anything profound. I had, although, sent them a significant amount of money every month since returning. Well perhaps saying that I had is the wrong way to put it, technically I had made Sean do it for me.

"Take this to them," I had said one morning a few days after returning home, holding out a sack filled with money.

"What?" Sean had asked, sounding confused as he stared at the burlap sack in my hands.

"Take this to them." I hadn't been able to look at him, because I knew that the sincerity in his eyes would just bring a sting of pain to my chest.

"Aleah-" he had started but I had cut him off.

"They're probably way under provisioned now that you and I aren't there," I had said, shoving the bag in his face, "You and I were always the only two that did any work, heaven forbid Talia get her hands dirty. They're probably starving, plus I wouldn't want to not be able to make up for all those chores I missed while I wasn't here," I had said disdainfully, remembering my father's words from the interview, "Just tell them that I have money lying all over the house and that you stole it from me to give to them. Tell them you'll be able to steal this much every month and I'll never know because I have so damn much."

"Aleah," he had said softly, taking my hand in his, "You should go give it to them."

"I can't Sean," I had spat out, looking away from him, "I can't see her because then she'll want to talk to me and I just can't talk to her."

He had known who I meant, our mother. The woman who had forced me to take tesserae on behalf of my other sisters, herself and our father because I had always been the most disposable child, the least loved. Because of her, my name had been in that glass bowl countless times, which is evidently why my name was picked out in the first place. I couldn't help but blame her, because I needed someone to blame and I could completely justify it. It's not like there had ever been any kind of maternal bond between us any way.

"I blame her Sean," I had whispered so quietly that I wasn't even sure he had heard me, "I blame her for everything. I blame her for turning me into this."

"I do to," he had breathed, "But perhaps, one day, when everything has settled down a bit and you've gotten past all this, perhaps then you'll be able to forgive her."

I had known then very well that according to his logic I would never be able to forgive my mother, because I was never going to be able to forget everything I'd lived through in the games, and it was never going to be behind me. But for the sake of not arguing with Sean, I had nodded, and he had taken the money to them and that was the last I heard of it.

As for the rest of district ten, my victory seemed to have polarised them. On the one hand, some of the people were absolutely enthralled at finally having another victor, and a female one at that. In the first few months I would often have people I didn't know and had never met come up and tell me how proud of me they were and how much they admired me. I never really knew what to say to that, considering how little admiration I had for myself, but I managed to generally restrain myself from verbally abusing people, most of the time. The district of the victor is rewarded as well as the victor herself, and after the conclusion of my victory tour packages of food and provisions and toys for little kids were dispersed amongst the population of my district. If anything, it made people considerably more happy to see me alive. Mind you, the fact that people could like me all of a sudden simply because I'd killed lots of people and managed to stay alive for two weeks, was a little bit disturbing. It doesn't say much about humanity as a species does it?

But then there were those people, and there numbers were considerable, who despised me even more than they had before, and I often caught people glaring at me as I walked through the street. It was nothing I couldn't handle, in fact I could teach most of those dim wits a lesson in glaring, but it was still unnerving to know that everyone in the entire district knew who I was and had some kind of opinion on me. As a result I often found myself walking further and further into the countryside, or riding out into the plains where I could simply get lost amongst the vastness of the landscape and force myself to focus for hours on trying to find my way home. It was a time consuming hobby, but it did the job of distracting me.

But today, I don't even know how I had gotten to be out here, and at the same time I know exactly where I am. I had just been riding when I felt myself yearn to be at this place, for some stupid and absurd reason, and somehow I had managed to find it, despite the fact that I had never been here before.

I look down at the simple stone plaque standing all alone in the middle of this huge expanse of open land, nothing but the words, "Boston Williams," carved messily into the slab of grey stone.

"Hey Boston," I say with a small smirk, as I come and sit down next to the grave of my oh-so-crazy district partner. I don't even really know why I'm here, or how I managed to get here in the first place, but something about being away from the mixture of condemning looks and admiring smiles is strangely refreshing.

"I'd bet you'd be laughing if you knew I was here," I say with a small laugh myself, at just how pitiful this whole thing was, "You'd be absolutely hysterical knowing that of all the people around me, it's _you_ I've come to visit. The truth is Boston, and I'd never tell you this if you weren't already dead, but there's really not anyone else I can talk to about it. No one else who was there."

I cross my hands over my knees as I draw them into my chest, "I bet you're all up there, all twenty-three of you, laughing at the fact that you're all free of this and I'm still here, still living it."

I can almost picture them all together, all sitting up in the clouds and watching as I live every single day through this hell, and all joking about how lucky they are its not them stuck down here.

"The fact of the matter is Boston, no one knows what it was like in there," I say quietly, staring out at the open plain in front of me as though it were endless, "Not even Heath. I mean he had his own games, but he wasn't in there with all of us, he didn't go through everything I did. And while he might have had his own horrors, I can't imagine anything worse than what we went through." I pause, and try to let myself breathe in the crisp, empty air and forget, but the memories pressing down on me were strangling me, and slowly, with each word that I breathed into the silent air I was feeling more and more like I could breathe again.

"While I was in there, I could justify it all," I whisper, my eyes locking with the name printed on the tombstone of the boy I had snapped, "I could tell myself that it had to happen because it was the only way to survive, to make sure I didn't die myself. But now that I'm out of there, now that I look back," I grimace as flash of pain comes over my face, "Now I can't even think about it anymore. Because just thinking about everything, it hurts. I don't even know why but it burns inside of me Boston."

"I think Nella got it right when she said I was the only one of us who could live with all of this," I say, casting a sideways glance towards Boston's grave, "I think it takes a certain kind of person to be able to shut everything out. And even I can't seem to get rid of you all," I say with a little laugh, "I mean just look at me now, talking to my crazy, psychotic, _dead_ district partner."

"What I'm trying to say Boston, is that while I'm sure a lot of people, Heath included, would have wanted it to be you, not me, who got home, I don't think you would have liked making it back, especially not after everything that happened to you in the arena, everything I did to you," I admit sombrely, my eyes darting sidewards as though the big brute were actually sitting next to me, "But at the same time, it couldn't have been easy for you either, for any of you. Dying I mean, none of them looked particularly pleasant. And I know that for a number of you, it was my fault, and I feel that all the time. I feel it all the time. So, that's the closest thing you're going to get out of me to an apology, so take it if you want it, because while I may not know what's happened to all of you now, just know that it's sure as hell not a picnic being me either."

I sit in the silence for a while, my mind filled with the ghosts of people who I hadn't really even know, yet had it been for one small change somewhere, could have been sitting in my position in various districts all over the country.

"They're making them vote, you know," I say with a small pathetic chuckle as I look up towards the horizon, "For next year's tributes. You have your pal Moss to thank for that, his little outburst really pissed off some people," I smirk a little as I think back to the footage Heath had showed me all those months ago, "If he's up there with you, could you slap him for me and tell him he's an idiot. You'd enjoy that."

"Can you imagine, being voted in?" I wonder, stifling a smile at the thought of it, "Knowing not only that you're going to have to go in there and face everything, but that your entire district hated you enough to actually _send_ you in there. It's probably a good thing that I was reaped last year, because I sure as hell would have been voted in this year. Fate obviously has it in for me either way."

I pause for a second when I remember something, "I saw your sister the other day, Vienna, the one you kept confusing with Skye. I'll give it you, there's some resemblance there, but it's not like they're doppelgangers or anything. It's not so 'spit image' that I'd ever get them confused, but perhaps if you didn't know them so well you'd get one muddled up with the other," I took a deep breath before continuing on, "Anyways I got Sean to drop off some money at you're old place. Don't be so surprised, I mean I do owe you. You took out, what was it, three people? Four? I don't know, but either way you did make a dent in something more than my leg. And who knows, perhaps if you hadn't I wouldn't be standing here today."

"At the end of the day Boston," I say taking a deep breath, "We were both doomed the minute they drew our names out that reaping bowl nine months ago. We were just doomed to different fates. You were doomed to die, and I was doomed to live. Which one of us drew the short straw, I don't really know. But either way, neither of us won anything."

I decide that I've probably been here, blabbering on into the nothingness far longer than I should have, and am about to turn around to leave when I hear a voice from behind me.

"You shouldn't be here," the mystery voice says, sounding distinctly masculine and strangely familiar, "You don't deserve to apologise to him."

I stand up and turn around, seeing a short, stocky, well built boy with sandy blonde hair standing with his fists clenched in front of him, his muscled arms flexed.

"I know you," I say with a small frown, "Why do I know you..." I search my brain for any kind of clue as to the stocky boy's identity before it hits me. Wendell. Talia's friend, well one of Talia's friend, she has billions. But Wendell was the boy who had come up and tried, badly, to flirt with Talia the day I had been reaped. I grinned mischievously at the memory of our conversation, and the intimidated look on his face as he had run away from me after I had, very easily, torn him to shreds. Ah the good old days, "Wendell! The short, pudgy boy with terrible breath."

He winces at the memory, obviously it has stuck with him these past nine months, but he doesn't back down quite as easily as he had back then, "Yeah that's me. And now you should leave. I know you're not here because of a guilty conscience, you would actually need a conscience for that to be true, so just get out of here now."

I laugh a little at his pathetic attempt to use any kind of authority to intimidate me, "Were you one of Bosty's friends then? Ten bucks says I knew him ten times better than you ever would have."

"No," he says looking at his toes, "I didn't know him at all. But I saw enough of the games to know that he was a good person and that you tortured him. So go away and let him rest in peace."

"Look Wendell," I say, the tone in my voice becoming threatening, "You're starting to piss me off. You don't know anything about me, or why I'm here, and if I leave it will be because I choose to leave not because you tell me to, okay."

"What on earth could a heartless bitch like you want to say to him anyway," Wendell says quietly, in fact I don't think he thought I could hear him. But, oh boy, was he wrong. I take a few steps in towards Wendell, covering the distance between us in a few seconds. He takes a quick gulp as I come eye to eye with him, but he tries not to show how terrified he is.

I lightly brush my hand against my cheek before saying, "Do you see this?"

He gulps again, "What?"

"This scar on my cheek," I say matter-of-factly, as I draw my finger against my skin.

"No."

"It's faint," I say sternly, "Really faint, just a thin white line the tiniest shade lighter than the rest of my skin. Not many other people notice it, no one really, because they tried to erase it from my cheek. But I still see it, every morning when I look in the mirror. And do you know what immediately pops into my head the minute I see that scar, what I think of without even meaning to, without any kind of control over my mind?"

Wendell pauses, seeming confused with what on earth I'm trying to prove.

"A name," I say sharply, "One name, that pops into my head every single time I see that scar. Roy Rousseau. He was the one who sliced a knife across this cheek nine months ago, leaving this line permanently etched on my skin."

I quickly pull down the corner of my shirt, revealing a patch of skin on the bottom of my shoulder.

"Here," I say, my volume increasing ever so slightly, my tone still nothing but informative, "there's still a small white circle from where a knife was plunged into my skin, again only a shade or two lighter than then the surrounding flesh, but visible to me none the less. And you know who I think of when I see that, Araucaria Checkov. His name and his face come into my mind's eye every single time I notice that scar.

I pull off the sleeve to the other shoulder, my voice rising with every word I spit out "Here, is where some mutated rats scratched me with their ludicrously sharp claws, minutes before another one of them plunged its claws into Claus Hendell's chest and ripped out his flesh."

I pull up the leg of my left pant leg to reveal my left calf, "Here, that boy, Boston Williams, slammed a sledgehammer into my shin."

Finally I pull up the hem of my shirt to reveal the side of my hip, where another faint white line stretched across my skin, "And here, was were Jules Surket sliced my own blade across my flesh after nearly blowing me up with a bomb."

Wendell was absolutely silent, his eyes locked on the ground, not daring to look at me as I glared at him with so much ferocity it would have reduced him to tears had he been looking.

"Since then I have been threatened, used, had my body altered and sold, been paraded around like a trophy and locked in a lifelong cage," I say, shouting every word like they were curses on my tongue, "And now, for the rest of my life I will be reminded over and over of everything I've had to endure because I will spend the rest of my life sending other girls off to their deaths year after year because it's taken twenty-four years for this pathetic excuse for a district to muster up _one_ female victor, and it could very well take another twenty-four for it to produce another."

Wendell took a deep breath and finally met my eyes, flinching as he did at the absolute loathing in them. I leaned in so close to his face that I could feel his nervous breath on my face as he took in the sight of me.

"I may be a heartless bitch," I spit venomously through closed teeth, "But I'm a heartless bitch who's been through hell, and who will have to live through hell for the rest of her life. So until you've been in there, until you've faced what I've faced. Until you've been forced to do what I've been forced to do, you don't get to judge me. _You_. Don't. Get. To. Judge. Me."

And with that, I turn and storm away from Wendell, leaving him paralysed in absolute fear, standing over the grave of my district partner. It takes me a while to get home, and in the absolute fury I am in, it's a good thing no one stops me and tries to congratulate me on my way home, or all hell may or may not have broken loose. Once I do finally reach my house in Victor's Village I am pretty much covered head to toe in thick, red, dust, and want nothing more than to jump into the bath and go to sleep, putting this whole stupid day behind me, but when I walk through the door, it's not Sean's voice that greets me. It's hers.

"Hello Miss Armani," she says, her long, ironically flame-red hair pulled back into a perfectly neat ponytail, so that the angular planes of her face are highlighted, "It's been a long time. You may have even forgotten me."

But as I stare at her, I think she knows as well as I that I could never forget her, at least not her voice. That voice that had echoed through the arena that day of the feast, and had been ingrained in my memory, haunting me ever since. No, I think we both know that she is a permanent part of my history, just as I am a temporary part in hers.

"It was very brave of you to step inside this house," I say menacingly as I stare at the Gamemaker responsible for all the horrors in my world. The woman who had been single handedly masterminding my torture while I endured it, who had preyed on my fears of insanity, who had made the world around me tremor when she knew I was claustrophobic. I was genuinely wondering which one of us hated the other more, because as much as I loathed her for everything she had done to me, she must have hated me an awful lot to do it all to me. Either that or she's just some fucked up, sadistic bitch, which is also a reasonable option.

"Either very brave or very stupid. Which one are you Phoenix?" I ask as I notice that behind her, sitting in a terribly overly cushioned carrier, is a fat little baby, it's piercing black irises glowing as it expertly gnaws on its own thumb, "And to bring your offspring, very dangerous move."

"Oh I don't think you are a danger to me, or to Coriolanus," the head Gamemaker says confidently as she sits down on my lounge, "For all your talk, your threats are quite empty. I think you ought to be much more worried about us than us about you."

"Oh really," I say with a sinister laugh, "Which one of us is the murderer here? Well, perhaps that's not the right question to ask considering you murdered twenty-three kids and now plan to murder twenty-three more this year. Perhaps I should have asked, which one of us knows how to impale someone else on a knife?"

Phoenix laughs a little before her unnatural teal blue eyes turn to slits as she looks over me, "While I have no doubt that you could kill me if you tried Aleah, I assume that someone who fought so hard to keep herself alive, would perhaps be a little less suicidal. Killing me would ultimately result in your own execution, and that would just be a waste."

I glare at her as I take in her annoyingly cocky presence. She freaking exudes the kind of confidence that power bestows, and it's all I can do to not to slap her across the face and show her just how little she scares me. I'm not her pawn anymore, she can't control me like she could before. There are no walls to close in around me now, and her words don't terrify me.

"What are you doing here anyway," I ask with as much hostility as I can muster up, "Aren't there some future tributes to torture or puppies to drown or something?"

Apparently, she doesn't find me very funny. Good, I wasn't joking, "No Miss Armani, it appears you are the only problem I have to deal with today."

"Oh goody," I say with mock enthusiasm, "It must be my lucky day. What on earth could I have done to deserve such an honour?"

Phoenix's eyes do not falter for a second, but she's dreaming if she thinks I'll crumble under her gaze, "There have been rumours, Miss Armani, that you have not been listening to orders."

"That doesn't sound like me," I say with a small hint of a mocking grin, "Who on earth could have told you that heinous lie?"

"Well for one, certain people have been reporting threats to having their kidneys removed while in your presence," she says factually, and I manage to not let my face show any of the dread I was feeling at hearing those words. Stupid freaking taddle-tales had been blabber mouthing. After Walden Henning, there had been multiple other Capitol men who had attempted to buy sexual favours from me, and all met a very similar fate to their predecessors. I'm quite proud to say that up until now, my virginity has maintained perfectly intact, and up until now I had thought that so had my reputation as an absolute cheap whore. Apparently, I was very, very wrong. Phoenix knows that I haven't let any of those men so much as kiss me, the question is, who else knows?

"I don't recall making any of those kinds of threats," I say, disregarding the statement completely. Phoenix quite obviously doesn't believe me, who would? I'm lying through my teeth here, but I guess there's no real way to prove me wrong is there?

"Let me be perfectly clear Miss Armani," she says as she stands, the condescension in her tone unmistakeable, "The further you blatantly disregard our orders, the further and further you wade into deeper waters. The more you push us, the more we will push back, and believe me we will push you until you break."

"You will try," I say strongly, following her advice and standing up, the two of us almost identical heights so my ice blue eyes are almost glaring straight into her teal ones, "and you will fail. If you haven't yet realised that it takes more than a few threatening words to scare me than you're not nearly as intelligent as you want to believe you are. You think you can silence me? You're more wrong than you could possibly ever know. I'm not just a piece in your games anymore and you can't control me. You want to push me till I break, well my breaking point is much higher than yours, and you're going to have to push for a _long_ time until you reach it. You can threaten me as much as you like, you sanctimonious bitch, but the fact of the matter is, you don't have anything on me, and I won't break for you."

We stare at each other like that for god knows how long, the two of us sizing each other up in silence as the loathing we have for each other radiates out of our pores. Every word that I said I meant, I would not bow down to her like some trained puppy, and if she thought I would she was more of an idiot than I thought she was. I hated her more than any single, solitary human being on this planet, and she was the last person I would submit to. If it killed me, I wouldn't stop fighting her.

It's in that moment that Sean walks to the door, his natural smile fading off his face as he takes in the sight of the red-headed Gamemaker and me staring each other down in the middle of the living room. Phoenix looks over at him, taking in the sight of my perfectly pleasant twin brother before looking back at me and smiling a smug, self-satisfied grin.

"We will see, Aleah Armani," she says ominously, as she picks up her chubby little offspring and turns away to walk out of the door, "We will see."


End file.
